Watcher
by terracannon876
Summary: As a crow, he only watched humans from afar. Despite his origins, Izaya loved humans oh so very much. Then things changed. Well, his becoming one just made things easier. A story on growing up, with a twist. AU, but as close to canon as possible.
1. The Watcher

Ch. 01

Fascinating. Even though I have written many other (chapters of) stories elsewhere, this is the first thing I put on here? Even when I haven't seen the series myself yet?

Simply amazing.

That being said, this story is going to be counted as AU. However, it will be (hopefully) strikingly close to the facts given in anime!canon before episode 9.

I blame my beta-ee for dragging me into this. (No, don't worry, you're awesome, kyo =) )

Disclaimer: Hope this covers for all the chapters. I don't own Durarara! or any affiliated characters.

Edit: This story has been rewritten, from chapters 1 through 11. Some details have been modified, and an entire scene was removed (probably much to the dismay of my readers) that is completely against canon timeline-wise and is also against the flow of the chapters. I hope this rewrite will be much smoother than before.

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**Chapter 01**

Sharp eyes looked down upon the crowd, head tilted to the side as he watched interestedly at the humans walking down below him. They all seemed to go about their busy lives, always hurrying somewhere or talking with someone or doing **something** with those hands of theirs. It was fascinating, so much movement, so much life! Oh to be down there, with them…

Again, he settled himself in his perch again, shifting and stretching one leg first and then the other. It'd been a long time since he'd sat there, and it was no wonder he was starting to get stiff. Not surprising, given that his regular routine revolved around this particular activity, much to the dismay of his peers – watch, eat, sleep, watch, eat, sleep. The only exception was the occasional dispute with the angry neighbor.

He returned to his vigilance, this time tilting his head the other way in an attempt to lengthen the time before he would start developing a crick in his neck.

A loud roar with the distinct undertones of a moan and a whinny came from the street just down from where he was staring, and he shifted his eyes towards the source of the noise, catching sight of a flash of yellow zipping down the roads. He followed the figure of the mysterious motorcycle rider, vaguely admiring the pitch black-ness of the vehicle, before it zoomed out of sight around a corner. He smiled. While the figure never stuck to a predictable schedule, it always appeared at least once down this highway, right under where he periodically crouched. Though it was terribly constant – not good for one who thrived on change – the rider always exuded an aura of mysteriousness that just begged to be unraveled and energy that came from the sense of purpose he saw it ride with. It was always heading somewhere, going somewhere without a mite of hesitation, and he admired that. Perhaps one day he would look more into who exactly this figure was. Perhaps someday.

But not today. Today was designated People-Watching Day, and he was determined to find out as much as he could about the human race as he could in one dawn-dusk period. He was glad he was born in this city; things wouldn't be quite the same if he had lived in some rural area where everyone was the same. Sure, there were the constants: young boys and girls heading to school, walking rather than skipping because of the enormous weight on their back; the older children, who chattered with each other loudly as they flocked in groups towards who-knows-where; the tall teenagers who always seemed to like to beat each other up; the men with their fancy suits and briefcases, hurrying somewhere as though he were racing time; the women with their bags and children, the babies, crying and crying until he wanted to just go and shut them all up once and for all… A great variety of constants, but constants all the same. The normal hustle and bustle that travel under his favorite roost.

And then there were the unusual visitors, like the masked rider who only zipped by, never staying in sight for more than ten seconds at a time. People who talked louder than the rest, with great booming voices as they proceeded to attempt to deafen their companions. People with exaggerated movements, who looked like the rest of life would be a blur to them because they were always moving so much and so fast with their hands, their gestures through their whole body. People whose facial expressions changed with every word they uttered, as though each syllable held a different meaning in their minds and somehow this must be expressed through some means other than simple verbal communication.

What were they expressing? What were they talking about? Why were they feeling that particular emotion? Too many questions, and unfortunately he had no answers to any of them. High up on the rooftops, he was too far to hear the words, to read any lips, and the few times he did journey down to grab some grub, a slang term he was proud to have picked up, he was always in a hurry to leave. People didn't like him around, thought him a bother. Shooed him away the moment he got near. And if he tried to stop and observe, they would be unnerved by his steady stare and either walk away from him or run straight at him, prompting his own hasty escape.

Nevertheless, this didn't curb his enthusiasm at all. There were so many people, so many differences between one another, and these differences changed with each passing day.

Yes, Izaya loved humans, even if he wasn't one himself.


	2. Meeting the Rider

This story was mildly inspired by Canary by Airrei. While I'm not a big huge fan of Shizuo x Izaya, she's a good writer =)

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**Chapter 02**

It was during one of his daily perusals of the human race that he realized he had company, announced by the loud fluttering of wings and a soft cooing that made him groan mentally. Of all the birds, he despised pigeons the most – dirty bottom feeders who were too stupid to realize the dangers of walking amongst the men. Sure they were fed sometimes, but Izaya had seen way too many one-legged beasts who had played too close to fire. Fools.

The pigeon, a great male with a large puffed out chest, glared beadily at him as he stalked forward, head bobbing with each step. 'I have landed here! This place is mine!'

Stupid testosterone-driven idiot. Damn them and their territorial tendencies. He suppressed a sigh, knowing that would only have served to make things worse. Years of experience told him that there was no reasoning with males when they were in such a mood, no matter the species. It wasn't even amusing to tease them anymore after the first few times. Birds are so boring.

Oh well, it's not like this was the only roost around, and he was getting hungry anyways. Without so much a word, Izaya turned on his heels with his head held up high, nose to the air. No need to let the bull think he got what he wanted because of any skill of his. By the time he was up in the air and several meters from the building, the incident was all but forgotten in his mind.

Foraging was something he never looked forward to. It was far too hassling, and he didn't get anything out of it other than a filling for his stomach, and even then, it wasn't like he ever got really **full**. Again, too much energy, not enough profit. At the root of the matter, though, it just wasn't something that interested him. 'Now, if I were human, that would have been a different manner,' he thought wistfully.

But as a bird, his priority had to be survival. There was no other way.

It was also for this reason he often tried to avoid landing in places with too many people. Landing and then taking off again immediately after because someone decided that they didn't like him on his property was just a waste of energy, not to mention the threat of bodily harm was too real to ignore. Reckless he may be sometimes (and he knew this), but even he didn't have a death wish.

Launching himself forward with each flap, he kept a steady gaze downwards, keeping an eye on the roads, the sidewalks, the alleys – anything with a hint of something to eat. After a few more minutes, he sighed. It wasn't quite as easy keeping track of what was going on beneath the crowds' feet when you were so concentrated on watching the crowd itself. Too many distractions. The park it is, then.

Wonderful. More mingling with the feathered community.

With an extra push, he pushed himself forward with more speed, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible. It wasn't like he disliked the park – it was one of his favorite places to people-watch when he was in the mood for a more quiet variety of emotions (which was really rare, since those just weren't as interesting) – but feeding there, with those accursed pigeons begging for food from every passerby, always made him lose his appetite somewhere through the middle of his meal.

The greenery stood in stark contrast to the buildings towering around it, and Izaya found a perch in one of the lower branches in a tree hanging over the fountain. Looking around, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. The place was fairly empty, without even the constant shuffling of feet on bricks. There wasn't even the shout of a vendor advertising his goods that often greeted him when he approached.

As grateful as he was for the lack of pigeons, their absence only meant one thing: that there was no food here to be found.

Just as he was about to turn and take off for some random alleyway to see if he could scrounge something out from the dumpsters, a movement in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Curious, he shuffled closer towards the end of the branch so that the leaves weren't blocking his view, and he straightened in surprise.

The motorcycle person without a motorcycle? In this park? That was new and probably very unusual.

He dropped himself down from the branch, sailing over to the next tree and landing behind it. Perhaps if he could sneak in close enough, he could hear it talk? He had heard many voices of the humans he's observed and was pretty skilled at categorizing gender, so maybe he could learn something and start to crack the mystery? Granted, he wasn't always **accurate**. He liked to think he was about 80% right (and 90% right in judging gender by appearance, so that number was dubious anyways. Humans were weird creatures. He didn't know of any other species where the males and females could look so much alike, hence the remaining 10%).

As he walked forward, though, the helmet turned to face him, even though he was sure he had been completely silent. He almost froze before he remembered that showing hesitation was just an invitation to attack, so he calmly turned to the left, as though he had always been intending to walk that way. Even as he swerved away, though, he kept one eye trained on the figure. This was the first time he had gotten so close, and, he daresay, it was closer than a lot of its species got to it as well, judging by how it was zipping down the roads every time he saw it.

He had almost walked an entire circle around the figure (without realizing it) before it suddenly moved forward. With an indignant yelp, he fluttered backwards, maintaining the distance between the two of them. He was curious, yes, but he didn't dare go any further forward. No, still no death wish.

The figure seemed to understand his caution and knelt down. This time, Izaya froze, unsure of what it was doing. Vaguely, it looked like a cat ready to pounce, but it was lacking the tension in the muscles necessary to prepare for such a movement. It was only then that he realized that it had been holding shopping bags in its hands, and as it knelt, it brought one forward and started rummaging through it. The loud crinkling of plastic seemed to echo through the sky, even louder than the sound of the cars driving past the park, but it wasn't long before it withdrew its hand from the bag and took out a carton. Suspicious, Izaya watched intently as to what it was doing. He had never seen anything like this before.

Gloved hands undid the carton easily and folded the top back, pressing hard along the crease to keep it open. With that done, it stepped back, walked a good distance away, and then turned back as though to see how he would react.

Well, that was new. He wondered what it was trying to do. Observe **him**?

It was then, though, that the aroma of what was inside reached his nose, and he could almost feel his mouth watering. As he had thought, it was trying to give him food. Well, who was he to deny it? It's not like the figure would miss it much, seeing as how that bag was still full with what smelled like fresher foodstuffs.

He swaggered forward, putting as much bounce in his step as possible to appear nonchalant. It would do no good to let the figure think that this was a normal happening. He was no beggar, and he was fully capable of helping himself. It would be a horrible waste to ignore the opportunity, that was all.

Standing next to the box, he peered in, and then almost immediately backed away, shaking his head to rid himself of the godawful too-strong fragrance of the food. Someone needed to lay back on the flavoring, seriously. Wings ruffled in irritation before he settled them along his back again. Holding his breath this time, he took a step forward and looked, trying to analyze the contents of the box with the torrent of steam rising from it.

It appeared to be brown noodles, covered in some sort of liquid that smelled salty, and some limp green vegetables lying hidden among the strands. It took him a while to place where he'd seen this before, but when he did he almost chuckled out loud. It was filled with soft sauce-covered worms of wheat, something he was very familiar with. It was what the pushy man who always hounded others to buy his cooking would call it before he stuck to you like a flea to your skin. The victim would often end up buying a small carton just to get him off their backs, and then immediately threw the contents away in the trashcan around the corner. Occasionally the contents would spill over the edge because of one of the more careless shots, and it was then that various kinds of creatures would come, attracted to the smell of free food. Izaya wasn't above admitting that he'd had his share of the slush too, although after his first bite he had known immediately why every carton ended up in the trash.

With this revelation, he swung his head up to glare at the figure, who had taken to kneeling again, probably because he hadn't dashed yet. This figure was probably another one of the casualties of parasitism, and just wanted to get rid of its load.

Oh well, it was still food, and he **was** hungry.

The figure stayed the whole time and only stood as he started pecking at the food less and less. It would be nice to feel full for once, but he didn't think he'd be able to take off again if he did gorge himself … and quite honestly, he didn't want to look bloated. He liked his figure the way it was, thank you very much.

As it walked forward to the carton, Izaya hopped back quickly. Though it had proven itself, dare he say, nicer than some of its other peers, that didn't mean he was quite comfortable to stay within kicking range. He must've looked pretty ungainly because the helmeted head turned to look at him and stared. It was only after a few silent seconds and only slightly before he could feel his desire to start fidgeting overpower his self-restraint that it bent down to pick up the carton. It walked away to the nearest trashcan and tossed it in, only once glancing back at what must have been a pretty odd sight.

He lingered in the nearby tree long after the rider's departure. Belly full, he quickly ran his bill through his feathers a few times to clean the oil off before taking wing.

Despite the odd lingering taste, he did manage to come up with a great idea to try.

So that's how it felt to have eyes constantly on you…


	3. Poking Fun

Before I forget, I thank kyokichii (who is also a writer here) for motivating me greatly in this fic =)

Also, I swear, I'm probably the only person on this planet who has written a nonpairing fluffy Izaya fic. I didn't realize it was actually fluff until it was done. What the hell? (Then again, animal!Izaya fics aren't exactly ... common either?)

Edit: This is the rewritten Chapter 3, though it's more of a reordering. This was originally a gaiden chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 03**

He was being watched, he was sure of it. He swiveled back around, as fast as he could … but still nothing.

"Brother, are you being paranoid again?"

Shizuo sighed and looked at his younger brother, Kasuka. "I'm telling you, there's something following us!"

"You've said that for the past ten minutes. I haven't seen anything yet," murmured Kasuka.

"Well, that's just because I'm better at this stuff than you," Shizuo argued back.

"And that's why you haven't found whoever's following us, right?"

Damn Kasuka . He was always better at these arguments. He himself had always hated words, or wordplay, or the intricacies of communication. It was all so annoying, just so annoying that he'd like to get something heavy – a brick, maybe? – and just smash it! Smash it, something, anything. Could he smash words? Maybe he could smash the one talking, and then—

"Brother, you're doing it again."

Shizuo froze in his steps. One, two, three. Slow counting, breath in, and out. He visibly relaxed after a minute or so. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. I don't want my head spread over the street either."

Well, there was nothing he could say to that.

"You're doing better, though. Last time you didn't stop for an hour, and wrecked the entire kitchen before you stopped."

Shizuo grunted. That had been a particularly ugly incident. He was just this close to putting a refrigerator on Kasuka's head. He hated how he lost control all the time. It was terribly annoying, and one day he was just going to do something he'd regret for the rest of his life.

What was worst, anything he did to try and help just didn't work. Or rather, some would work at first, but then stop working, and others would never work in the first place, and yet others would keep him calm for only a little bit before the anger stole out of him like a river and inundated everything in his vicinity.

The two walked on in companionable silence once again, until Shizuo felt that damnable shiver run up his back. Once again.

"Gaaaaargh! Stop hiding around and show yourself!" Shizuo roared at the top of his lungs, there was no one in the alleyway besides him and his brother.

"Brother, you're breaking my eardrums."

"I swear, that'll be the last time – last time! – that creeper follows us. I'll make sure of it. Because it's annoying me. A. Lot." Harsh pants punctuated every syllable towards the end of his rant.

Kasuka put his hand on Shizuo's elbow, and though his brother managed to calm down fractionally, the anger still remained on his face. Shizuo had always tried to keep his younger sibling out of this whole mess, and the touch had a minor calming effect on him.

The two were about to turn around before they heard a loud "caw."

"What the—"

The crowing came in rapid succession. Kasuka looked around, and eventually spotted the perpetrator. "There, on the fence."

And there, sitting on the cement wall circling someone's backyard, was the most sinister-looking little damn bird you could imagine. Shizuo didn't like birds. They were too loud, and loud just brought on headaches. But this went far beyond that. After the damnable guffaw had stopped (because that's what it was doing! It was laughing at him!), the jet-black bird had remained staring straight at Shizuo. Its head was tiled to the right, so that its eye had full focus on the two, and gods, were those pupils red?

"What an unsettling bird…"

Truer words have never been said, Brother. Shizuo just let out an affirmative grunt in agreement.

The three of them stood like that, eye on eyes, for a good minute before Shizuo broke the contact. He cursed again and shoved Kasuka behind the shoulders, causing him to stumble forward, almost falling on his face. "Come on, let's get going. This is a waste of time."

Kasuka didn't make any protests, and the two continued on their way home. It would have been a relief, except the stupid bird followed them and started circling over their heads, cawing all the while.

"Shut up, you stupid chicken, or I'll get up there and pluck you dry! And then I'll cook you and beat you and grind you up and feed you to the wolves before I drown you and burn you and—"

"Brother, I don't think some of those things would work, chronologically."

Shizuo put his fist down and tried to ignore the screams overhead as he followed Kasuka.

It was only a good thing he knew nothing on how to discern emotions from a crow because up above, Izaya was having a high time guffawing his heart out.


	4. A Brand New World

Disclaimer #2: All mentions to other series that you recognize (Yes, even the Crow reference) are not to my own material. Virtual cookies to those who do recognize where all 3 are from, though.

Didn't put this before, but please review! Whether it's with criticism, what you liked, what you didn't like, who's OOC, etc. Thanks =)

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**Chapter 04**

Waking up was slightly harder than usual, although the person in question didn't notice since he was still caught in the throes of almost-sleep. He stretched, arms and legs pulled as far apart as he could as his mouth opened in a great big yawn…

…before he suddenly noticed his sense of balance was completely off, and he tilted over and off the branch he was sitting on, straight onto the ground.

Wind knocked out of him, he lay there gasping on the ground for a few seconds, trying to get his breath back and stop the world from spinning, before he suddenly noticed that something was very, very, **very** wrong.

Where there should have been wings there were arms and hands, and where there should have been claws he had feet. He was much taller, and (the clincher) he was **pale**. Where were his feathers? His beak? (he thought as his hand rushed up to his mouth to touch his lips. Yes, there were lips.) His glorious sheen of black? Hell, he didn't know humans **were** this naked. Honestly, he thought those few crazy people who looked like this on the streets were wearing a really tight cloth that just blended in really well with the rest of their body. No animal could be this unprotected … could they?

Wait. Hold on. Izaya sat back, legs curled haphazardly under him. He shifted a little to get the remains of the branch out from under him. He was lucky he didn't see the practicality in flying up to a high perch when there were absolutely no predators only to come back down again every time just to be near his subjects. It turned out to be his saving grace, seeing as he would have ended up as a red splatter on the ground otherwise. At his core, Izaya was logical, and that didn't change despite the fact that he was no longer a bird. First, he had to sort through what was most important.

OK, so he was human.

Good. No, not good (or was it? Too early to answer) but it's not like there was anything he could do about it.

Why was he human?

Unknown. Was it that dubious food from yesterday? Hopefully not. If so, he'd have to haunt that motorcycle female for the rest of her life, not to mention the crazy food seller.

When did this happen?

Apparently last night. Which was odd because he hadn't noticed anything at all.

What to do now?

First, food. He could get that like he always had. After all, humans were the ones who originally threw the food away. Being stuck in a garbage can didn't mean that it suddenly became inedible. As for water, well, there was a fountain right here, and he could just sleep somewhere on the ground around here if he was tired. There wouldn't be any fear of being trampled, and nothing preyed on humans as far as he knew, so he should be safe.

In the past, that would have been all he had to worry about, but now… Izaya looked down at himself and frowned. He didn't really have an idea of where to get those clothes that humans were so proud of, and he really didn't want to attract that much attention just yet by wandering around without any. Perhaps there would be some in the alleys?

With this thought, he pushed himself up off from the ground. After a few seconds of guarded teetering, he was surprised to find himself still upright. Huh. He'd have thought it would be harder to walk on two legs without a tail to balance himself out. Curious, he took a few steps, and no one was more surprised than he to find himself still standing. Before long, he was making his way to the nearest dumpster for some hunting.

'Interesting,' thought Izaya. It seemed like he knew perfectly well how to control his limbs and how to balance and walk, even though he knew he did **not** know these things from before his mysterious transformation. He hurried along, doing his best to ignore the stares he attracted everywhere. Granted, this was especially easy since so many thoughts were rushing through his mind.

If he could walk and run like he had been doing this since the day he was hatched, did that mean he could talk like them? Did he think like them now? Rather, had his thought processes changed now that he was human and not bird? Because he did not know the answer to this question and knew there was now way to find out, he frowned. And then he stopped in his tracks as he realized what he just did, and with this came a slow creeping smile that spread across the whole of his face that only faltered when a loud _honk_ drove him from his reverie. One of the cars was impatient to start moving again.

But never mind that. The smile was back on immediately as he made a beeline for the darkness of the seams between the buildings. It didn't leave his face as he rummaged through the trash looking for something that was more than a few rags, and he even found himself humming a nonsense tune as he held up what he thought was upper-wear.

By the time he had managed to pull the ragged shirt over his head, the smile had faded somewhat, though this was simply because his facial muscles were starting to get tired. But the light in his eyes were as strong as ever. The possibilities of what he could do now were whirring through his mind. Never before had he realized what he had been missing this whole time. Now he could walk amongst the humans. He wouldn't have to squabble over petty issues like food or territory that always seemed so important to others of his species. Instead he could do what he liked best and not worry about anyone else. This thought made him happy and he almost set off on another humming bout before he made a small sound of exclamation when he found some fitting shoes.

After a while of puzzling over how exactly to put this cloth items on, he nodded to himself, satisfied with his compiled outfit. With this, he turned and set off to the streets. The others walking by him still gave him weird looks, he noticed, but they swiftly turned their gaze instead of straight-out stared at him. He supposed that was better, but he wondered what caused the distinction in the way they treated him? Oh well, that was a question for another time.

Judging from his height, he was about the same age as the children with the backpacks. He wondered if this meant he had actually gotten younger with the transformation or if this was how old he really was. Eh, it didn't really matter.

His walk was uninterrupted for the most part, with most of the others passing by him without so much as a peep. He completely ignored the awkward atmosphere that seemed to revolve around him. It was only when two blue-clothed men approached did he finally feel compelled to stop. The two towered over him. He was fully aware that the only reason he wasn't feeling particularly worried was because his head was too high in the clouds to bother with old instincts. He hummed a little as he listened to their speech.

Clipped off syllables with a rough, formal tone. It didn't seem like they were angry, but it wasn't like he understood anything being said, so who knew. He didn't feel the need to let that on, though. He liked listening to people talk, so let them talk all they wanted. It was another one of those things that was just interesting about humans.

For all his observations, language was something that he had never quite gotten a hang of. He liked listening to the gibbering, though, and one day he had even given himself a name in the foreign language. That was why he was Izaya and everyone else just settled with an identifying caw or squeak or chirp. Just to validate it, he had even made sure to count the number of syllables being used, although the name was too long to say in his mind every single time, which was why he always used the shortened version 'Izaya.'

The talking stopped, and the two men were looking at him as though waiting for an answer. Izaya decided that this had gone on long enough and that he'd better not push his luck, so he quickly flashed what he hoped was an innocent smile and ran off. Yelps of surprise came from behind him at the sudden speedy departure of the child, but he was too thrilled listening to the pitter patter of his own feet on the cement to bother paying attention. The _tap tap_s came so quickly, so much faster than he could have hoped as he was before, and before he knew it laughter rose from his throat in bubbling torrents, drawing stares from those around him.

But he didn't care. Why should he care?

The world was his to observe, to do as he pleased.


	5. Survival of the Fittest

And with this chapter comes the first bit of character interaction. I hope I got him right, but if said character is OOC, please tell me in a review! =D

Also, thanks to all those who've reviewed thus far! *huggles 'em alllll*

I swear I did not intend for this story to be fluff at all. Heck, I intended this story to be a oneshot. Then crowzaya took over my brain and commandeered the keyboard.

Bad crowzaya!

Please review =)

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**Chapter 05**

It was during a cold October day that the first casualty appeared.

He lay on the hard concrete, one cheek and one wide open eye smeared with blood, clothes stained with the red liquid. One hand lay carelessly behind him, the other near his throat, as though he had been holding it right before he collapsed. That was no surprise, as etched into the neck was a wide, gaping hole.

For those who were in the know, the crime was a strange one. The teenager was one of the delinquents that roamed the streets, someone anyone could tell had no money at first glance. This ruled out burglary as the motive, and yet it was obvious there were things stolen from him. What puzzled people the most was that, if this was indeed a case of theft, then why was the boy's wallet left completely untouched in his back pants pocket, and yet his shoes were missing? Shoes were hardly worth committing a crime over. Not to mention, it seemed like the boy had been wearing a jacket before he had died, judging by how his blood had disappeared in a fairly straight line on the shoulders.

Perhaps the jacket had something of value in its pockets, although that didn't justify the disappearance of the article of clothing, which suggested perhaps another reason behind the killing. But as to what that reason was, no one had a clue. One theory was that it was by a homeless person who was desperate enough to commit the crime, but really, there were better targets, not to mention this was called into question by the single piece of evidence found at the scene.

A small bent letter opener was found lying near the man, just about a meter from his head. Fingerprint analysis was performed, but there were no ID matched the prints that were so abundant on the weapon. All that could be ascertained was that the attacker was someone younger than thirteen, disturbingly enough. With nothing more to go on, and (horrible to admit, but true) because of the victim's status in society, the case was swept under the rug and all its confusing clues and convolutions quickly forgotten.

It was a week before the next death. This time, it was a young man in his twenties. The crime was fairly normal-looking. He could have just stepped into the wrong place at the wrong time for one of the many gangs loitering around the area. However, the most conspicuous detail about the scene of the crime was the scattered food and Styrofoam cartons around his body.

At first glance, there was nothing out of place. The murder was even written off, nearly forgotten until a bumbling police officer one day searched his pants pockets and found what he had thought was a gas receipt he had dropped that day. He was correct; it was a receipt, but the contents of the receipt were for a list of fresh groceries as well as some takeout from the local grocery. Thinking back, no one recalled seeing any fruits and vegetables among the destroyed foods, but it was already too late to go back. The revelation hardly seemed worth bringing up, so it was kept quiet and ignored.

The third victim was, miraculously, found alive. 'Ah,' the police thought, 'finally some eyewitnesses.' However, they were disappointed. The teenager girl attacked had come out unscathed physically, but mentally she was traumatized, thus throwing her story into doubt. After all, who would believe a tale about a ghost child clothed in a black cloak that moved like the wind? The case was abandoned due to lack of leads, and she was compensated for the contents of her missing purse.

The officials couldn't care less about the recent string of odd unclosed cases. However, word of the street traveled fast, and within a day of the latest incident, everyone was wary of traveling unprotected for too long in the night streets. Because of the witness' account (which had been posted online that very day by a certain begrudged girl), people had taken to calling the ghost child "Peter Pan," although others decided to concentrate on the "black" detail and called him "Crow" instead, alluding to the Westerners' notion that the black bird was the harbinger of death. Some even went so far as to call the phantom "Reaper," claiming that the purse must have been cut by a mini scythe.

Said boy in question never knew of these rumors. That night, when the others were busy reading up about this latest incident on their screens, he was too busy trying to figure out how to unscrew the bottle and get at the damn water inside the stupid bottle that had been in that girl's bag.

It was hard for Izaya to keep track of time since he didn't keep count of the days, but he knew quite some time had passed. It hadn't taken him long to come down from the euphoric high he had found himself in post-transformation, what with survival necessities and all (immediately after he had run two blocks, his stomach had started growling. Loudly).

Food was as he had expected. The leftovers from the garbage were indeed edible, albeit with his new sense of taste he found himself quickly preferring some varieties over others. Incidentally, he found himself often drifting towards the garbage can around the corner from the persistent worm-food vendor since the grub there was often thrown in without the carton ever being opened, thus preserving the taste. It was still pretty bad, but much better than most other things he'd tried in the short time he'd been human. He withdrew his promise to haunt the man for the rest of his life.

Of course, fresh fruits were always a gem, but the effort it took to obtain them always outweighed the rewards. It simply wasn't worth it, especially because they always started to brown and soften by the time he'd worked towards the last of his stock. And though they were sweet, they simply weren't filling.

Sleep had been unexpectedly hard to come by the first few times. It was more a matter of figuring out expectations than anything else. That first night, he had simply curled up by the fountain and had found himself kicked awake by another blue-clothed man (how many of those **were** there?). Assuming that the angry gestures and the finger pointing towards the exit of the park meant "leave," Izaya had been forced to search for another spot.

This had happened too when he had laid next to one of the buildings on the street. Apparently there were proper sleeping spots and improper ones in human culture. Before, he had never stayed up past sundown to observe humans because, quite frankly, he couldn't see too well without sunlight.

In the end, he found himself returning to the same roost once or twice – an abandoned platform that was two stories up. It was made of metal and cold, and the floor was made out of simple metal wire, but it was sturdy and there were railings to keep him from falling. There was also a door right nearby, but in all his time, as both a bird and a child, he had never seen such doors being opened (and almost all buildings had some structure like this), so it was safe to say that no one would ever be disturbing him up here. The only way to get up there was to climb a ladder that required a bit of a jump to reach.

Eventually, "just a few times" turned into "every day." His new "nest" was fairly safe, and no one could easily reach him. Thinking about it now, it was probably because of before, this love of heights.

Water had been the simplest issue, in the end. He was right; the fountain water was drinkable. However, on a cold day like today, he found he couldn't stomach the frigid liquid and had to look for something warmer. The bottle and the way the girl had opened it before sticking it in her purse had seemed the perfect solution. Which brought him to what he was doing currently.

Vaguely, he wondered if he looked like a normal child, sitting atop a dumpster with his legs hanging off, feet swinging in shoes that were no longer as shiny as they were when he had first obtained them, teeth grit and eyebrows furrowed in his desperate struggles to get at the water inside a plastic container. He was wearing his warm black (still his favorite color) coat that was much too big for him. He didn't wear it often unless he was already resting because he didn't like the thought of that wonderfully soft border dragging a foot behind is feet.

Either way, it all worked perfectly because it doubled as a blanket as well. He just had to make sure the fur-lined hood was turned away from his nose so he didn't spend the entire night awake trying not to sneeze. Ignored, the purse lay on the floor next to the dumpster, strap sliced straight through, its contents untouched. He supposed he would take it back to his hideout later and look through what was there.

It hadn't been his original intention to start taking things from others, but neither did he regret it much. He didn't know how humans got by in their lives without so much stealing, and even then, how did they get such fancy things in the first place? Did they steal it from somewhere else? He was cold, so he got a coat. His old shoes were falling apart, not to mention too big, and he found out the hard way that running around barefoot just begot injuries, so he got new ones. He was hungry, and there was no food to be found that day, so he gathered some.

In fact, he hadn't been intending to do any harm to the first two people; the first had drawn a knife, actually managing to injured him, and, well, self-preservation first. He didn't feel like having a repeat performance with the second man, so when he had reached the exact same way the boy had into his coat, Izaya had rushed forward. It was only after he had fallen that Izaya had noticed there was nothing sharp in the vicinity of where he had reached. A moment's regret came ('He could have lived.') and passed before he made off with the food that had been his original target.

After those two incidents, he had even gone through all the effort to not kill that girl. Aside from the fact that needless killing when it could be avoided was an absolute waste of life, he had noticed that every time there was a death, everyone in the whole city would raise their guard, making it hard for him to get around.

Everything seemed to have rules attached. He had no idea how he would go about surviving in this horribly detailed society that he was now a part of. There were times when no amount of scrounging around could bring up what he wanted, and as the weather got cooler and cooler, it struck him that perhaps what he had on wasn't enough either. In fact, the stupidest things seemed to have rules attached. It wasn't until he witnessed some crazy drunks going about their business near the bar wall that he finally figured out how to go to take care of his bodily functions without being chased away or even attacked.

And yet, the other humans had all they needed. Was he missing some integral part of their society, something that couldn't be witnessed but had to be communicated and understood?

It was just when the weather was cooling down that he had chanced upon his first sight of crime. A scruffy-looking man had been threatening an older man at knifepoint, and the older man had given the man something after much sweating and whimpering and trembling. The man had let the other go then, and Izaya had taken the whole thing in from behind the nearby dumpster.

This was the bottom-feeder's way of life. As much as he hated to admit it, at the moment he couldn't be counted as anything but the lowest of the low. And even if he vowed to himself that this wouldn't be the case for long, he knew he had to start somewhere first.

This was how he was to survive.

Thus, the next time he had found the opportunity, he had gotten his hands on a knife. By this point in time, he had come to find the pattern in the discarded items in certain trash cans. The one where he had found the weapons were near a store that was often empty and sold shiny trinkets at the window.

It wasn't like this was the first time he had handled tools, and besides, it seemed to be another one of those things that came naturally to his body. It was just unfortunate that the first person that had something he had wanted – that beautiful coat and usable feet covering – also possessed a weapon. Before he realized it, the other was down, and he was standing in a bloody pool. The human's weapon had skittered against the building wall. The sound had attracted his attention and he decided, upon inspection, that the blade seemed to be straighter and sharper than his own run-down knife, and so he had discarded his own right then and there.

The thought of the knife reminded him that he had it right on him at the moment. He cursed himself for forgetting such a thing and pulled it out from his pocket along with the makeshift cloth sheath he had made for it. (He needed to refresh the bundle every so often because the stupid blade kept cutting through all of it.) Taking the knife out, he quickly sliced off the top of the bottle.

There, problem solved. Granted, he knew this wasn't the usual way to go about things, but no matter how he tried to twist the top, like he had seen the girl do, he couldn't open it. Really, it was almost insulting to his intelligence that he couldn't get it open no matter how he twisted and pulled. (The only reason this was an "almost" was because he had the excuse of not really being human.)

When he had his fill of the liquid, he stuck the chopped off cover back onto it upside down, as a sort of cover. Luckily, it fit. Taking the bottle in his teeth, he pocketed his knife again and, jumping off his perch and picking up the purse, he wrapped its loose strap around his wrist, this time making sure to close the zipper before twisting it upside down. (He hadn't realized there was a way to keep the stupid thing closed on its own, so he had been hard-pressed to figure out how to run as fast as he could away from the screaming girl without worrying about its contents leaking a trail right back to his nest.)

Once this was done, he walked to stand under the ladder that hung from the platform that he liked to call his human nest and jumped, both hands grabbing the bottom rung of the ladder. He waited a bit for the swinging to stop before climbing up another two rungs, at which point he hoisted himself up enough to get a foothold and proceeded to climb the rest of the way.

Once up, he set his precious coat on the floor to prevent anything from falling through the cracks, he poured out the paraphernalia from the bag.

After several minutes of poking and playing with the objects, he came to the conclusion that girls were absolutely the most frivolous creatures on the face of the planet. Who else brought so much around with them that was absolutely useless? The only thing particularly useful was the mirror, which caught the light nicely and doubled to let him see what he looked like without having to resort to trekking back to the fountain to catch his reflection. That he kept.

Everything else, though…

There were lots of wooden sticks and some weirdly shaped objects that were fancily decorated. Did these things show one's status in human society? He couldn't think of any other use for that tube of food. It was far too oily, and the smell that came from it was weird, yet he had seen the girl put it to her mouth earlier. When he had tried it himself, he almost fell back against the railing in his disgust at the absolutely horrible taste of the thing.

That settled it. They must put themselves through all the trouble on purpose, and then the one who can suffer the most is at the top of their twisted society, and they carry these things around as proof.

Sighing, Izaya just jotted this down on the ever-growing list of "things I don't get about humans" as he put the object back. While it was fun to discover more and more about them, the constant holes in his knowledge always undermined all his conclusions; and he was far too occupied with just getting by in his current form to pay his hobby too much attention, sadly.

Ironic, even.

Still, being a human was **much** better than being a bird; that much was certain. Just as he had realized within ten minutes of his transformation, there was the potential to do so much more. He could now express all his emotions with his hands and his face, like he had admired the humans doing what seemed like so long ago. He didn't have to fear for his life quite so much anymore, nor did he have to cringe every time something dark passed by overhead.

More importantly, he knew he could make the sounds necessary for speech, and though he couldn't communicate with anyone yet, he knew that given just a little time he'd have everything down pat. He hadn't come up with a plan on the "how" yet, but he was determined to do so. It was his ritual every night now to say his name ten times, which were first syllables he had managed to sound out after much trial and error. (His tongue was sore after having been bitten so many times that first night.)

Yes, he wouldn't trade this for anything in the world, he thought as he gathered the contents of the purse up and set it at the edge of his nest. He'd have to dispose of that later in a hidden place so he didn't draw too much attention, but not now. Now he was tired.

"Izaya," he murmured with a smile before pushing himself up against the railing and wrapping the jacket-cum-blanket around him for warmth.

Izaya.

Izaya, Izaya. IzayaIzayaIzaya.

That was his name.

His name as a human.

His new self.

And with that thought in mind, he drifted to sleep, ready to face a new day tomorrow.


	6. Morning Ritual

Sorry for the delay. Life, college, finals, etc. I'll still be slow, since I have workstuffs, but hey. I updated =P

On another note, I just remembered that this was supposed to be SHORT chapters. Why the heck am I writing 10-page long thingamajigs then? As such, the next few chapters may seem a bit ... weird in transition because they were taken from a huge chapter.

Hope you enjoy! And please review when you're done!

* * *

**Chapter 06**

The sun rose, and with it, so did Izaya.

With a wide yawn, he stretched backwards, extending his arms as far up as he could with a straining grunt before suddenly letting everything go lax. Smacking his lips a bit and blinking blearily at the intense light that shone long shadows over the alleyway, he rolled to the balls of his feet and stretched again, one fist holding the jacket. The first day he had slept here, he had made the mistake of sleeping on the other side of the door, facing the sun. That had been a rude awakening, and he hadn't been able to see without spots flickering everywhere for the next ten minutes. He had also proceeded to then hit his head under the stairway when he had stood up.

He rolled his shoulders and tried to stretch his neck a bit before he made his way to the opening in the railing where the ladder was and jumped, grabbing the stolen purse from last night on his way out. Landing had gotten easier over the days. The first day, he had to stay leaning against the wall to get the stinging out because he had somehow managed to land on the flat of his feet. Apparently the knowledge that came with suddenly turning human hadn't included knowing how to land properly.

Needless to say, that first day hadn't been a good one.

With purse in hand, he strolled over to the dumpster that was right under the platform and jumped up onto its edge and started rummaging through some of the bags at the top. It was hard to tell what was in the bags – the humans all used this opaque white bag that you couldn't see through, and the plastic blocked the smells from coming out. No wait, that wasn't quite true. It blocked all the good smells, and all the bad ones leaked out. Izaya couldn't think of another reason why being near a dumpster could smell so goddamn awful because trash on its own smelled fine. Maybe. Eventually, he found a bag that looked kind of promising. It was more squishy than blocky, so he took out his knife and sliced it open.

Bingo.

It looked like someone had a luxurious dinner that day, what with the sheer amount of vegetable peels that were balled up in the trash bag amongst some cardboard pieces, plastic wrappings, and other pieces of junk he couldn't recognize. There were also some bones of some sort that still had meat left on them, as well as some wrapped sweets. Humming in satisfaction at his find, he took out the edible bits (meat and sweets. He tried peels once and had spit them out in disgust, though he did take some out sometimes to play with. They made fun _splat_ noises when thrown against the dumpster) and stuffed the bag that was in his hand deep inside with the rest of the refuse. Scooping up the rest of what would be his breakfast in a bit, he hopped down from the rim and laid his collection down on the ground next to his jacket, where he had left it.

As he tried to scrape some of the meat from the bones, he began plotting his course for the day. He had already explored most of the nearby areas, but there was one alleyway that he had been too tired and hungry for last week that he really wanted to go into. So that was where he'd go later on. First, he'd make a trip to the park, though, since it'd been a while since his last bath and he didn't like the way his hair was gumming up. And then he'd make a trip to the worm-food place (or, more specifically, to the trash can around the corner from the worm-food place).

And after that he'd have to take some time to find a way to carry everything at once. The incident from last night just proved that there were times when he couldn't have all his hands free when he wanted to, although the time before with the fruits and vegetables was pretty bad too. He supposed he could use a bag like he'd seen lots of other people use, but in all his time spent looking through the dump, he hadn't seen any intact, and there was no way he could just carry one with a broken strap around in his hands all day. That'd just defeated the purpose.

So, that would be the day. Satisfied, he meticulously unwrapped one of the brown sweets from its wrapper and popped it into his mouth, before he gathering up the debris of his makeshift meal and tossed it haphazardly into the bin behind him. He wiped the juice off onto his pants to keep from staining the jacket before picking it up and hopping off along his merry way to the park. Sweets always did put him into a good mood.

Even though it was just sun-up, he saw very few people out. Back when he was a bird, he had noticed that people were generally very late wakers. There were a few that wandered the streets (the great majority of whom were those suspicious blue-clothed men) but even the roads were quiet from the lack of cars.

What a waste of time. He supposed eventually he would have to wake up later, since he couldn't very well watch people when there were no people around.

No, wait, retract that thought. He'd need time to plan on **how** to observe them.

Never mind, then.

Just as he finished this thought, he found himself entering the park. Even as a human, he felt himself relax some in the calm atmosphere that always seemed to envelop the park when it was empty. He savored the smell of the leaves, taking a deep breath in and heaving it out slowly, before continuing on his way to the park at a slower, less bouncy pace.

Once he arrived at his destination, he was glad to see that the water was still spewing out from the top of the fountain. There were times when he had come too early to find that it had been turned off, and he had to resort to dunking his head into the water to get it wet.

'But, that wasn't a problem today!' he noted, nodding to himself. The day was off to a good start. He set his jacket down again – today hadn't been very cold, but that thing was damn useful at the most unexpected times sometimes – before surveying the vicinity furtively. He didn't want someone to drag him out mid-bath, like what had happened last time.

No, no one was watching him. Well, that made things easy then. He took out his knife from his pocket, which had poked him when he was washing up in the past, and climbed over the edge and jumped into the pool.

His shirt stuck to his skin tightly, as did his pants, something he didn't much care for when he was bathing, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. They were just as dirty as the rest of him and were in need of being cleaned. The cold water was a bit too frigid, but it did serve to make him feel absolutely refreshed and rinsed whatever remaining grogginess there was from him as he sat down in the water and leaned back so that he was almost completely submerged in it. It was a good thing that the fountain was really shallow because otherwise he would have to crane his neck up to keep his head above the water. He splashed about a bit as a little warm-up before rolling over and lifting his head up with a gasp. While bathing was mostly for practical reasons, that didn't mean he couldn't play around a little, and the louder splashing noises never failed to bring a grin to his face.

All right, down to business. He went over to where the water was cascading down from the upper platform and stuck his head under it, rummaging through his hair a bit to get the water more thoroughly into it. Sitting down so that the rest of him was under the falls as well, he sighed as the water streamed down his back, beating against his shoulders and back. Holding his breath, he tilted back just enough so that it rolled down his front as well. Once he was thoroughly soaked, he held out his arms under the water, before bending over to rub one side of the arm against the bottom of the fountain, which had ridges in it where the tiles met, while he scratched at the other side with his remaining hand. He repeated this with his other arm, then on his legs. By the time he was satisfied, he noted that there were more cars roaring down the streets. It was a clear sign he should get going.

He climbed out of the fountain and shook his hair in a slight attempt to get it dry. He had found out a while ago that this method wasn't very efficient and that it was just better to wait it out somewhere under the sun and with light wind, but he wanted to get lots of things done today. He puffed out his shirt, a slight _shloop_ sound as it unstuck from his skin, and let it flop back down a few times. He sighed. Perhaps he could walk it out?

He made his way back to the other side of the fountain to retrieve his temporarily abandoned possessions when an idea occurred to him. He wiped the water with the jacket before pressing it against his legs first, cursorily, and then setting it flat against his head. After waiting for a few seconds, he took the jacket off and put it on.

There, that should be better.

With this done, he skipped out of the park, watery patches following his every step as drops rained from his still-wet clothes. His hair stuck to his scalp, but Izaya liked how that kept it out of his eyes. Absently, he ran his fingers through the hair in an attempt to straighten it. Grooming hadn't been quite as efficient ever since he had lost his beak, and since the only place he had hair was someplace he couldn't reach with his mouth, that was a totally useless method of fixing himself up. That left his hands, which actually did a surprisingly good job, though not enough. Thinking back, he had seen some squirrels rummage through their fur with their paws, but he couldn't really do the same thing since they could see what they were going after and he couldn't. Really, what did humans have only hair on the **top** of their heads for?

Hell, he had actually grown fond of the patch of hair on his head. Everywhere else was so pale that he liked the only remains of his shiny black-ness even more. He didn't really care much for reminders of how he was in the past, but he had actually **liked** the way his feathers looked. Lately, though, it had been falling in front of his face and blocking his vision.

He continued sifting his fingers through the end of his hair, seemingly ignoring all the stares he was getting. While he kept his eyes strictly forward, never sparing more than a flickering glance at the people in their neat clothing around him, he always noticed their gazes at him. He couldn't exactly interpret the emotions behind the stare; this troubled him because he was usually pretty good at reading such things, but they didn't seem hostile, meaning that it probably wasn't worth his attention. Sometimes, he wondered what about him was so interesting. He noticed he attracted attention no matter what time of day it was, no matter what he was wearing (or not, like that first day). Was it because he was traveling alone instead of in a group like all the other kids he'd seen? That he smelled (he didn't **think** he did, but maybe some humans just had more sensitive noses than he)? It didn't seem to be because he was wet, but that probably didn't help either, since no one else seemed to be dripping water everywhere they went either.

If there was one thing he had learned about humans after he had become one, it was that they were wary of anything that was different. This actually made acclimating himself to their society much easier, since he just had to observe. Of course there were problems, like that one time he had accidentally copied a girl's energetic squeal when she had seen something she'd liked. The returning stares of incredulity (he recognized that expression from the blank look and the open mouths on his onlookers' faces) stopped him from doing that any more. Apparently gender determined behavior to an extent, which made sense. It had been that way before, too.

He supposed that meant that his jacket, with its feet-long length, was like those clothes the females wore. That could have been another reason why he was always the center of attention.

But he wasn't giving that coat up. Ever.

The sun was a quarter of the way up in the sky by the time he had reached the foraging grounds. Luckily, already there was a lot of food, and it didn't take much effort to reach in and grab the topmost carton. Opening it, he found those god-accursed noodles again. Some days the material was a nice white, soft rice that tasted slightly sour, although sometimes that rice was covered in some sort of spicy green paste, which always prompted him to drop said nice rice immediately. Bad experience that ten minutes of face stuck in the fountain couldn't cure. He had never run so fast in his admittedly short life as a human before. Other times, though, the rice had some weird assortment of foods on it. He always ate those separately because he found they tasted better that way, but either way, this was another reason he preferred this place – the sheer variety that scavenging couldn't hold a candle against.

But today was noodles.

Oh well. Food was food, and the day was just starting.


	7. An Expedition Doomed to Failure

Since it's been such a long time...

* * *

**Chapter 07**

By the time the sun was at its apex, Izaya was already halfway across the city, skipping as usual, coat floating behind him every time he took the next step.

This day, he would definitely make it to that alley, no matter what. Every time he tried, he'd been sidetracked by people, food, or seeing something unusual. There was an accident the other day, with deafening sirens and flashing red and blue lights. People had milled about, craning necks back and forth. They had reminded Izaya of pigeons, always adjusting their line of sight back and forth to get a better view, and with a slight shudder he was reminded yet again of the utter disconnect from his previous life.

He still didn't know how he'd become human, nor why. But what happened was always bound to happen again, and it was always possible he would be back on scrawny legs and wings. (No complaints about the feathers though. The natural nakedness of humans was still disconcerting, after all this time.)

For now, he was going to make the best of what he could. He shoved the thought out of his head. Today, he was going to get there, find the alley, and look around. After all, as an inhabitant of this city now, he felt it was his responsibility to know every nook and cranny, every possible detail and escape route. It was all sure to come in handy later, though he was unsure why or when that would be. That didn't matter. It was better to be safe, either way.

Gradually, he started recognizing less and less of where he was. Granted, all the buildings looked the same from where he stood, but having had the experience of soaring over them, he knew that they were actually of different height and some of their roofs were decorated differently, so he had actually gotten into the habit of counting the number of floors a building had if it looked the same at eyelevel as another one.

Over the days, he found that he was starting to think less and less like he had when he was a bird. Granted, he had always known that he was different. No other of his species could sit as long as he did for something as "unimportant" as a hobby, and no other bothered to try to get close to the humans on purpose for fear of life. But now, there were just small signs that perhaps his very mind was evolving in a strange way. He still thought of things in concepts, but instead of visualizing everything in vague pictures, he found himself relying more on labels. And just as he knew how to count suddenly, he knew that the gobbledygook that spouted from everyone's mouth was a label for all the individual things that appeared in the world and in his thoughts.

The only problem was that he didn't know the language, and there was no conceivable way for him to learn it; not without him appearing like a freak and being avoided by everyone else.

It was as he arrived at this thought that he had to push it from his mind. He had come to the intersection adjacent to his destination, and it was time to start taking as much as he could.

The streets weren't crowded, they but they weren't empty either. Every one who passed him paused in their steps when he approached, and he supposed he looked like a fool, always looking upwards and then downwards and swinging his head right and then left and then back right again. They probably all thought he had some sort of attention span problem.

He hadn't stopped walking until all of a sudden, _Bam!_ he walked into a tall man in a business suit. While he was busy rubbing his sore cheek, which had caught on the man's suit button, the man's angry words and tone washed over him. He flinched when the man's briefcase swung too close to his face before the man stalked off in a huff.

What was his problem? He'd only bumped into him, and **he** was the one who fell down, not the man!

Sighing, Izaya drew himself to his feet. Feeling eyes on him, he looked around, but quickly looked down when he realized he had attracted quite a few eyes. He frowned, not liking the prickly feeling he got that ran down his spine, but he forced himself to walk on quietly, although he kept his vision low to avoid meeting any eyes. He also, most absolutely, did **not** pick up his pace a little. At all.

By the end of the block, he was jogging around the turn and away from the street he was on and thus from everyone's vision.

Not winded, but feeling a bit of a chill from all the stares he'd gotten, he continued down this street, paying no attention to where he was going. Slowing down, he wondered about what just happened before he suddenly remembered – this had happened with the helmet lady a long time ago, back when he was still a bird. It had felt much worse when so many people were doing it, so he was too concentrated on getting out, but now that he thought about it, was this why some birds flocked together to stay away from predators?

And here he thought they were just too stupid to find their way anywhere alone.

Suddenly, Izaya looked up from his thoughts. He was standing in the shade, a stark contrast from the sun-filled streets he had been traversing earlier, and the buildings all appeared darker and somehow more ominous, even though there were the same number of people on the sidewalk and cars on the roads. It was colder, and he huddled a bit more in his jacket, hands gripped tightly, as he glanced left and right and tried to figure out where he was. The entire street was unfamiliar, but he hadn't really walked too far in this direction. He hadn't been that far lost in his thoughts.

He looked up at the sun but could only see the blue sky. There was no way to tell the time when the sun was being blocked. He looked back the way he came. He could go back and try to find his way, or he could keep on going forward. He hadn't been thinking for that long, so the sun should still be high up and dusk should still be far off, so with a nod, he decided to keep on exploring.

Fortunately, not much else happened to him that day, as he kept an eye out for people and avoided stepping on their toes and he made absolutely sure to only cross the streets when others were doing it. Unfortunately, though, it was already dark, and he had found nary food nor water, nor his way back home. Not long after his decision to continue on, he had grown anxious and had headed back, just to make sure he could get back.

Needless to say, that didn't work out quite like he intended.

His stomach grumbled, calling attention to the most pressing problem. He put his hand on it, feeling it actually vibrate. This had never happened before, pre- or post-transformation. He had always made sure he had eaten, and usually he was too lost in his thoughts to notice the hunger, but now, with nothing more to do than wander the streets lost (Izaya hated to admit that to himself), he couldn't help but notice it.

Quite honestly, he hadn't been paying any attention to the alleyways or potential food places as he was walking by, only interested in peering down a street corner and seeing if the buildings lining the roads looked familiar. After passing down several intersections, he started to think that maybe he had missed his, so he had turned back around, and by dark he had already walked the same section of the streets about eight or nine times already.

He started jogging, one hand clamping the neck of his jacket together so it didn't fly off, having taken his sleeves off after a while since he had started getting hot from all the movement. It was after several minutes that he finally found what he considered a satisfactory alleyway and promptly turned in.

He was just about to reach into one of the dumpsters towards the end of the alley – he figured it would be safer since it was further from the streets and more hidden – to see what was in it when someone stepped right up behind him.

"You! What are you doing? You've made me wait two hours with these yucky garbage bags hanging off me! Why didn't Celty do this, she would've gone and finished this in a snap. And you! You've walked by eleven times already! You're not someone suspicious, are you?"

So intent was he at trying to fish for the bag from behind the damned too-tall walls that Izaya jumped at the sudden voice, knocking against the metal with a loud, dull clang. He hastily backed away from the trash, one hand nursing what was probably going to be a bruise later.

In the shadows, he could barely see the person addressing him, but he could tell the white was stark clean and a sharp contrast to his surroundings. There was no light where they were standing – all of the artificial light did little good when they were this deep in. Eventually, Izaya found himself tracking the person's movements from his coat rather than his hand gestures, the bags forgotten at the person's feet. Now he seemed to be murmuring more to himself than to Izaya, judging by how the coat had suddenly stilled.

"-another person following poor Celty. Well I'll show them." The coat spoke in a high-pitched tone. It suddenly straightened. "Come on, speak up! What are you doing following us around! Celty didn't do anything wrong! You're all idiots for trying to catch her. Plus, she could beat you all to the ground!" Izaya thought he heard stomping noises mixed in somewhere there.

Today was just not his day. First he got lost, and then he was hungry, and now, of all times, someone tries to talk to him. He wondered how long it will be before this person realizes that he doesn't understand a word he says. Humans seemed to be very ignorant of that sort of thing, if the tall man from yesterday was any indication. Not that that was a bad thing, he thought as he clung his jacket tight to him again. He stayed still, not sure what movements would provoke this newcomer. If there was one thing he remembered from his life as a bird, it was that movement startled the predator and only made them more ready to attack.

Izaya narrowed his eyes. He didn't care much for the hostile tone, though. What was this, the coat's territory? It wasn't like the humans used the food he was after. He felt himself bristling and baring his teeth. Distantly, he wondered if this mammal-like reaction, so unlike what he was used to as a bird (which was really just turning tail and fleeing), was another set of instincts that came with his body. Usually he would run, but now he wanted to protect what he found, what was his. He crouched down low.

Perhaps, if this boy was going to interrupt him, it would be fine to steal his food instead. Izaya reached into his coat for the same knife that had saved his life many times, through attacks and starvation.

By this time, he heard weird sounds coming from his throat, but he didn't bother stopping the rush of snarls.

"Oh crap."

A quick stumble backwards and the coat was on the ground by the bags. Izaya didn't wait. He rushed forward to drag the coat away from **his** food…

…when he was sent flying backwards, head hitting the brick wall behind him **hard**. He lay on the ground and reached up try to stop the throbbing. It helped. But when his hand came away, it was sticky.

That was new.

He sniffed it, and tasted it, and only when he recognized the metallic tang did he pause in amazement.

Blood.


	8. Gracious Welcome

*smites cliffhanger with chapter of doom*

* * *

**Chapter 08**

Wow, he didn't feel like he was bleeding. At all.

There was just a constant ache. He looked up and saw that the door that had burst open swinging loosely on its hinges. Back and forth, back and forth it swung, the shaft of light at the doorway widening and narrowing ever so slightly with each movement. He followed it with his eyes until something – someone? – stood, blocking his view.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Whoo! I'm fine, especially because my dear love came all the way down to save me! Damsel in distress, rescued by the prince! …Or is it the other way around. Huh? I was just surprised, that's all. I didn't expect him to react so violently when I asked him those questions. …Well, I didn't want him to get into the house, so I closed the door behind me. OK, OK! I won't do it again! I'm sorry!"

Squinting, he tried to make out who it was over the headache that was starting to develop – not helped by the constant flow of chatter coming from the boy – and when he did, he tried to pick himself up so hastily that he fell on his side.

The light was harsh, but the cat-eared helmet was unmistakable in its silhouette. This was where the motorcycle person he had seen everyday on the streets lived. And it was helping up the coat…

…who was a boy who looked about his age. Izaya felt the urge to moan, but decided to continue keeping his mouth shut, so as not to alert the two even more than he already had. He had almost attacked someone his age – a definite **non**-threat. More importantly, he had felt threatened himself? What a laugh.

"Haha, only in Ikebukuro can taking out the garbage be a life-threatening task."

The boy was scrawny, black hair messy, and on his nose perched a pair of glasses that just looked like it was about to fall off. The immaculate coat was soiled from its kiss with the ground, and he was currently in the midst of brushing off the dust with the motorbike rider helping him.

The coat boy looked up as Izaya was examining him, and shock registered in his eyes. Without him even commanding it, his lips pulled back on one side into a sneer. So the boy didn't know who he was facing either.

But that didn't matter. This was dangerous, thought Izaya, as he dropped his smirk. While he had met the rider before, it was without any hostile intentions, and now, even though it didn't speak a word, it practically radiated its intention to hurt him in all manners possible.

The three stared each other, none willing to make the first move. It was Izaya who broke the standstill, his foot shifting backwards before he was suddenly off, his legs carrying as fast as he could make them move.

"Wait! Celty, stop him!"

He didn't know how it happened, but before he knew it, his face was in the dirt and his legs were flat out under him. He saw stars, and he heard light footsteps approaching. Hands made contact with his wrist, and he twitched, intent on throwing off this unwanted contact, but then there was a weight on his back and his arms were both behind him and he couldn't move…

"Hold still, will you? I'm trying to get a good look at you."

The same voice as before. Izaya drew his lips back again in a snarl, but he dropped the expression when he looked back and saw that it was the vicious attacker sitting on him, incapacitating him. Not to mention, his head was resonating with a dull throb.

"Wow, did you see that, Celty? How fast he ran? I wonder how he did that…"

There was a shift, a loosening of grip, and Izaya was so close to breaking free … before they were both caught again and this time, a leg was placed on his shoulder, pinning him down.

Tap tap tap, rapidly sounded from behind him.

"Because I've never seen anything like that before. Come on, you can't tell me you've seen anyone go off that fast before."

More taps.

"Yeah, but those guys have trained a lot. Look at him. He's my age! I just want to know what drugs he takes or how he trains himself. Besides, he's injured. He needs some treatment."

Izaya was really starting to find the taps annoying.

"I knew you'd love that side of me- OW!"

He was wondering why in the hells he was still being trapped when obviously the two had won (they can keep the food, damn it) when the boy peered straight into his face, still rubbing his abdomen.

The eyes were positively shining. With what, Izaya couldn't begin to fathom. "So? You heard me. She'll let you go if you answer this one question."

Needless to say, the black-haired boy had no idea what was being said. Instead, he took the opportunity to try to extend as far forward with his neck as he could and bite the person's face off. Unfortunately, he only succeeded in chomping air and straining his neck, not to mention feeling like something had poked a finger directly into his brain.

Coat boy jumped back, landing on his behind again in surprise. "Guess … that's not a question you want to answer." He got up surprisingly quick this time. "How about this then? Who sent you here? Why are you after Celty?"

No better answer came from Izaya than before, who decided he could spend his time better looking for another route to escape through than to listen to more incomprehensible blabber.

The boy looked over him and into his companion's face. "He's not answering."

The tapping started again, and now that Izaya had his head turned back, he could see that the source was actually a small device with clicky buttons that the other was tapping with one hand. Symbols appeared, and once several were on the screen at once, she held up her message for the coat boy, who shook his head when he read it.

"No, he looks completely Japanese. At his age, I'd be surprised if he knew another language if it weren't spoken in his home. Maybe it's another dialect…? But he **looks** like he's from the Tokyo region…"

With this, the boy got onto his knees and peered straight into Izaya's face. Uncomfortable, Izaya turned away, hiding his chin in his chest while averting his eyes.

"Interesting. His irises are red, and there don't seem to be any contact lens in use." He looked up at his companion. "Would you say he's skinny?"

The helmeted female typed her reply and showed it to the boy. After a pause, she began typing another message.

"…I won't deny the possibility, and there's no need to be so curt! I'm only asking for an opinion. Please don't put this between us! Hm, now that I think about it, he was going through the trash when I interrupted him, but the coat doesn't look as worn down as they should be for someone living on the streets." The tone turned thoughtful before it was addressed at Izaya again. "Hey, sorry. Look, um, Celty will just get off you now…"

With those words, the weight from his back lifted, but at this point, he was too tired from struggling to even consider dashing. He did manage to push himself upright, though.

"Do you live around here?"

The world was swaying a little, so he brought out a (bruised? Had it gripped him **that** tightly?) hand to the rough wall, wincing when tender skin met the coarse brick.

"No answer… Um … You're a stupid, dumb, mute idiot who can't tell his mother from the wh- OW!"

He looked at the boy, who was looking at him expectantly, with a dull glower. What did he want?

The boy rubbed his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just wanted to see his reaction! Even with that, he's not answering. Celty, I don't think he understands a word we're saying."

Typing in another response, the rider turned to face him even as she displayed her message to the boy.

Izaya followed this interaction with interest, now that he could see it in front of him and not out of the corner of his eye. Somehow, they were communicating without talking. One glance at the symbols earlier had told him that he had seen them before, on the large wooden boards that the humans were so fond of putting up, but he hadn't thought they'd actually had a meaning that could amount to language. He had thought they were something similar to the scent communication so common to animals.

Perhaps there was something more going on?

"All right then. I'll ask. Hey," the boy waved his hand in front of Izaya's face. Irritated, he had no choice but to look at him, "what's your name?"

The boy had said it with such purpose that Izaya felt like he was waiting for him to say something, but he didn't know these people. They weren't nice like the large man from before was, so he had no desire to give them his name either. Not knowing how to respond, he settled for a blank stare.

The bespectacled boy slapped his forehead. "Argh, this is so awkward!"

And upon seeing the response, he actually froze.

"What? We can't do that! I mean, sure, temporary treatment, but we don't even know who he is, where he came from. He doesn't even talk, and then there's **Dad**-"

The small screen that was shoved in to his face promptly shut him up.

He sighed with a small, defeated smile on his face. "When you put it that way, there's no way I can argue with you, is there. Celty always has the upper hand." Again, he turned towards Izaya. "Come on, let's get you inside."

Izaya was puzzled by this sudden change in attitude. Did something happen? Why was the boy offering him his hand like the large man had before? Were they trying to give him something? Again, he gave no response.

A clicking sound, and the boy reached forward and grabbed his hand, but Izaya jerked back. The boy looked startled and tried to reach forward again, but Izaya only backed up further. Frowning, the boy was about to try again when a hand settled on his shoulder.

The helmeted one walked forward, and Izaya shifted his attention to her, sensing that it was about to do something. Except it didn't; nothing other than back up a little, pointing towards the door that was still open and was shining light on to the dark of the streets.

It looked warm in there.

Izaya looked back at the rider, and it backed up a bit, pulling the boy, who kept silent but was looking up between it and him with surprise, with it. He looked back at the light. It was inviting. It was warm. He was hungry and tired and injured and light was always better than no light. He looked back at the two, but sensed no hostile intentions at all. But he still hesitated. It was all too suspicious, still dangerous. He could feel safer, but he was all the more vulnerable.

That was, until his stomach put its own two cents in and let out the loudest growl yet.

A burst of laughter came from the coat boy's lips before it was quickly quashed with a fist. Izaya paid him no heed, instead looking down, hands on stomach.

The decision was made quickly. (So quickly, in fact, that he felt his head actually hurt.)

As he was walking in the doorway, he heard the boy start talking again, this time in an hysterical tone, "I still can't believe you want to take him in. Do you **know** how long it takes for someone to learn reading and writing? And never mind the talking! All the nuances in pronunciation and tone… It's going to take years!"

But Izaya paid neither those words nor the furious tapping that followed any mind as he continued on, following his nose as quickly as possible. If he was going to fall for a trap, he may as well fall for it all the way and enjoy the bait before it sprang.


	9. Adapting to a New Life

**Chapter 09**

The sun was still high, and Izaya did not want to stay inside at all. He propped his head up on his chin – a habit he had picked up in his time spent watching the television – and tapped his pencil restlessly against the kitchen table, his eyes intently trained through the large glass balcony doors at the sunlit city outside. He then looked down, without turning his head, at the books that lay before him.

He weighed his options. Maybe for about half a second.

Setting the pencil down, he quietly slid the chair back against the tiled linoleum floor. He didn't want to make too much noise. As softly as he could, he stood and crept over on sock-covered feet (Gods, how much he hated that article of clothing. The only thing they were good for was preventing the chafing of feet against shoes.) towards the front door. He looked behind himself once before quickly leaning down and grabbing his shoes, intent on stuffing them onto his feet as fast as he could, until a hand touched his shoulder, causing him to jump in surprise.

And **that** was the reason Izaya wanted to be as silent as possible.

Sighing, he turned around, head down. He didn't have to look up to know that Celty was standing in front of him, arms crossed in a chastising manner, helmeted as always. Izaya didn't wonder much about her choice of headwear – it was the way she was and had always been, and will be – but that was the least of his worries.

This was not the first time this had happened.

A flick of the wrist, and the woman's usual handheld keyboard appeared in her hand. Before she could finish typing her message, though, Izaya opened his mouth.

"Ah-I feh-finished my work for toh-today." His eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to remember the proper words and pronunciation. Damn vowels. Why did they have to be so diverse?

He could have sworn that if he could see her face, her eyebrows would be raised to her hairline. She made to delete what she'd already written and started typing a new message.

Again, Izaya happily took the preemptive with a slight upturn of his lips. "F**ih**nished it yesteh-yesterday." Seeing as how her fingers had barely paused in her typing, he continued. "I'm go … going out. Safe. Back for dah-dinner."

The rider raised her hand, showing the small screen. He struggled through the words, sounding each syllable out. 'If you really have finished your work, then you are free to come and go as you please. I will be looking through what you've done. Just don't get into trouble.' He worked through the sentence in his mind. So in other words, if he lied or was caught doing something he shouldn't outside, there'd be consequences? That should be simple enough. After all, he had been telling the truth … unlike the last time he had attempted to sneak out. That had resulted in him promptly being sat at the dining table with Celty breathing down his back the whole time as he puzzled through his problem sets.

He nodded his reply and turned to put his shoes on. Just as he was about to place his hand on the doorknob, a sharp tap on the back of his head made him flinch, thinking she was still going to hold him hostage inside.

nlike the last time he had attempted to sneak out.

n telling the truth ...lou she was at home, arms crossed in a chasHe didn't want to spend another hour in sheer boredom.

The message, however, said nothing of the sort. 'And don't interrupt me like that again. I know you're just doing it to annoy me. Do you wish a repeat of what happened when you first came here?'

Izaya grimaced. That day, the (second) day when his life changed forever, had ended with him eating not a speck of the food that had lured him into the apartment building because he had passed out from blood loss. All thanks to one of Celty's kick. He hadn't woken up again until the next night – a whole 24 hours out.

To make things worse, the very next day he'd been horrified to learn that Celty was in fact a female. Females fought, when it came to the human species, apparently, because Celty was no slouch.

He quickly opened the door and left without a word. She'd probably take this as a sign of consent. Before she could say otherwise, he skipped down three flights of stairs at lightning speed.

Izaya figured he'd wait a while before he tried to rile her up again. Fun factor aside, she was scary when she was angry.


	10. Respite

I've noticed some inconsistencies between my story and ... well, the series and real life, but I'm planning a revision after the whole thing's done. Not any sooner. I've actually had a story where I continuously revised the first three chapters and guess where I am 6 years later? Chapter 3 =P I'll correct small details though, especially if it's blatantly wrong. Feel free to alert me to errors!

Thanks for reading, you guys =)

Happy reviews happy reviews happy!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

It had been four months since he had first started staying with the odd duo, and within that time the boy, Shinra, who couldn't have been any older than he was, decided to oversee his education on his own. "If he's going to learn, then he's going to learn from the best of the best!" so the boy had said. Well, seeing how he was only on personal terms with two people and one of them had no mouth to speak with, it was obvious that there was only one person for the job.

Izaya didn't complain too much at the time, seeing as how any chance to learn what he had always coveted was a chance he would take, but now that he was well on his way to learning the language (amazingly quickly, was the general consensus between the other two), he started getting more and more miffed at being talked down to by a boy his age.

(Shinra, on the other hand, was getting more and more excited at the prospect of possibly teaching someone language within the span of a year. He'd never known anyone to pick something up so quickly before. He wouldn't go so far as to call Izaya a genius because that title was specifically reserved for certain people like Celty and himself and maybe, **maybe**, his father, but the strange kid was pretty close.)

What probably would have taken most at least half a year to get took Izaya simply two months, and the rest was simply practicing and expanding upon his vocabulary. It just seemed to come naturally to him; he supposed it was because he was always listening to the words and thinking like a human now, so all he really needed was that connecting line of "This word means that" and a grammar structure to go by.

Shinra had even gone out and bought elementary grade books for him to do exercises in, but Izaya, ever the believer in getting as much done as early as you can, had finished them long before their "due date." Generally, the day after he got the books, when Shinra was off in "school," Izaya would rush through the books, finishing every problem on a separate sheet of paper before copying only that day's assignment's answers into the book. He had learned the hard way, when the first time he had actually filled out the entire book, his education overseer wouldn't believe him when he said he finished all of it. Only gave him a skeptical look that even Izaya knew Shinra didn't believe him.

So, in the end, Izaya spent his early days finishing that day's problems by copying his answers off his answer sheet, and then lounging the rest of the day off in front of the television. The box was like magic, as far as he was concerned. He had no idea how it worked, but it was like a window into different dimensions, and there was no better way to see so many emotions in such a short span of time. Even though he didn't understand most of what was being said, the expressions shown were blatant enough, and really, that was what he was paying attention to.

A smile meant you were happy. An open grin, that you were joyous. However, a slight pull upwards, and that smile became a sneer of malicious intent. The eyes, too, told much, depending how much they were narrowed, on the position of the eyebrows. The day after he had first discovered how the television worked, he found himself in front of the bathroom mirror making faces at himself for an hour. Every day after that, for another month, he practiced the expressions he learned for half an hour a day, sometimes even more unless Shinra really had business to take care of.

But expressions weren't the only actions that interested him. There were the hand gestures – something he had always kept an eye on back when he wasn't human, back when he had envied those versatile limbs. Then there was the intonation of the voices.

Eventually, though, solely being on the sidelines got tiring. He had prepared enough; he wanted to see how he fared out there in the wild, so to speak. He had practiced and practiced talking so that he had a way of communicating with others (something he would not give up for all the world). He had stood in front of the mirror, watching his own expressions and gestures, both in a critical and admiring manner. Shinra had once said, when he had spied Izaya imitating people from the shows, that they were acting – that it wasn't real. But it was real enough for Izaya, and he figured that they couldn't be **that** fake, and so he continued using them as his model.

The television had showed him a new world, appended new information to what he already knew. Rage, sorrow, maliciousness … all of these were ones he hadn't seen with his own eyes before. Sometimes he heard screaming through the windows at night, disturbing his sleep from the rooftops, but never had he actually seen what these emotions looked like. It was surprising, even slightly appalling, to finally bear witness to the extremities of human expression in a small window from the coziness of a couch.

But Izaya was not going out today to watch people, scrutinize their expressions, or hear their words.

He took the steps two at a time, the back of his now slightly small jacket fluttering upwards as gravity carried him down. Sticking his hands in his pockets (one of the first things the two had done was get him a new wardrobe, and one of his favorite additions were the pants with pockets), he made his way down the street, out of the alley he had wandered into that fateful day.

The sun was high, although not quite at its apex yet. There weren't too many people in the streets – it was common for this time of day and Izaya didn't think too much of it. Indeed, he was quite glad for it because that meant having to pay less attention to where he was walking so he could avoid running headlong into someone again.

He passed by the now-familiar buildings, streets, and crosswalks – these things did not change, and so they did not interest him past their initial discovery. While he hadn't exactly been outside the most (since he was under the mercy of a certain to-be scientist), he had a good memory when it came to places, especially with those he's visited at least twice. On his outings, he generally made his way back to the park, to familiar sights, but today, his destination was a bit different.

He hadn't returned to this alley since he had essentially been picked up by Shinra. The sunlight shone down, covering the walls in barred shadows as the light slid past the railings. The dumpster next to the building looked about the same, the only difference being its contents. And up above it, the ladder was still there, as well as the little platform that was the place where he spent so many nights.

With a hop, he grabbed onto one of the rungs, which were so coated with rust that when Izaya pulled his hand back he found them covered in red. Not paying it any mind (Shinra could clean out the stains if he decided he cared enough about the clothes), he made his way up and onto the first floor. Predictably, there was nothing there – any possessions he may have left on the floor would have been blown off over the edge – but oddly enough, Izaya felt content when he leaned on the railings, looking down.

Guess his love of heights never quite left him. He'd always been either on the ground or behind a thick window pane that prevented the feeling of reality that he was up six floors. Twenty meters. The closest he came to the edge was the balcony the two never used.

A breeze blew by, and Izaya enjoyed the feeling of it playing through his hair. He sighed in simple contentment, and for the first time in a long while, his thoughts did not circle around the human race.

He stayed like that for quite some time, he didn't know how long. It wasn't in his nature to think about the past. There was still so much to do; after all, for whatever reason, he had been given at least a twenty year life extension. Maybe more, considering what the average lifespan of a human being was. What was it again? Seventy for a Japanese male?

He gazed off into space as he leaned against the rails, back to the main street. Elbows rested on the slightly creaking barristers, and his head tilted back to stare at the sky, or what he could see of it at least. Too much hubbub lately … it's been a long time since he's had silence. Never thought he could miss something like this, even in a vague sort of way.

Sometimes he could still imagine the wind ruffling through his feathers. If he spread his arms wide, with his long coat open, the occasional breeze would practically sweep him off his feet. Once, he'd even tried to climb on to the railing, but a panicked Celty had dragged him back in and yelled at him for an entire hour.

There was no dinner that night either.

Not that he regretted this opportunity, however it had happened. He probably never would. He enjoyed life as it was too much.

Still, that didn't prevent him from relishing in moments such as these.


	11. Odd Encounter

So, here's chapter 11! Admittedly I had a story-altering review that just made me pause and think through some aspects of the story. So I changed a few characters around, including the two who appear in this fic. Originally they were going to be OCs...

Can you recognize them? =)

Hope you all enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 11**

It was during one of his "vacation expeditions" back to his nest when he heard a voice stop him.

It wasn't calling his name – besides, only two knew it and one was mute – but there was no mistaking who "Hey, Coat-bro!" was referring to.

It wasn't a voice he'd heard before. He'd never heard a girl with quite that shrill a pitch before, other than perhaps the sparrows that were sometimes his neighbors in the past.

He leaned back further, arms still resting on the railings, so that he was staring upside-down at the source of the voice. Or rather, that was his plan, but he still couldn't see where she was. Frowning, he flipped himself around and looked straight down.

There, standing below his former nest, was a strange girl with waist-length hair, holding hands with a quiet boy with hair that seemed to flop all over the place. It was even messier than his. The boy wore a hoodie with a striking design splashed over the front that didn't seem to fit him at all, and the girl was wearing a sheer, dark dress that made it look like someone tried to play doll with her.

That was probably what had actually happened.

"What're you doing up there?" asked the girl. Her slanted eyes peered up at Izaya, making him feel like she was wondering just how to sneak up on him and trap him and cage him. He shuddered slightly before regaining his composure. He didn't answer back.

The girl pouted. She had to be about half his age (and about the other boy's age), yet even Izaya, well-versed as he was in humans, was cautious. "I said, 'What are you doing up there?'" she demanded in slightly louder voice.

Still no response from Izaya. He chose to stay silent, wary of the situation. Seeing her stomp her feet in frustration, he began to think if it was a wise decision. One of his least favorite things was crying children. The reaction was crude, and the noise was loud – that's all there was to it.

It reminded him of baby birds. He was glad he had never started a family. They were just as loud as babies and the damn chicks were always, always, **always** hungry. Then they up and leave without so much as a "thank you."

Luckily, the boy standing next to her seemed to notice her scrunched face as well. Without looking up at his audience, the boy started speaking. It was unlike anything Izaya had heard before, and he didn't understand a speck of it. Apparently the girl did, though, because she was nodding enthusiastically to his words.

Izaya didn't like the look of that boy. If the girl appeared to be sly, then the boy seemed to be veritable fox, down to the very way his eyes were shaped. They even looked like they were closed most of the time, and it was only when he occasionally lifted his head to see him on the rafters that Izaya could tell that he really was keeping them open.

After a few seconds' conversation, the two looked back up again, the girl this time with a grin on her face. "Yumimi here says that you'll come down if I tell you you're a purebred chicken not fit to be scavenged on and that even the pigeons would be ashamed of you." Completely ignoring Izaya who was by now staring indignantly at the girl, she continued on, "Is that true? You really are a birdbrain aren't you. It's not like you're hiding if you sit up that high. Did you think black was a good color? I like it too. You're really black aren't you? …Hmm? That coat looks familiar… Where did I see it before…?" And with this, the girl finally trailed off.

Though her words had stopped, Izaya's mild headache at the barrage of questions hadn't subsided, and he was mentally debating whether any or all of the queries were that "rhetorical question" thing he'd heard of before. He wanted to answer as few as possible.

The bird comments, though… There was no way anyone should have known, and logically he knew they didn't, but he couldn't truly put it past them. Logic and paranoia did not exist in the same plane.

Suddenly, the girl tapped one fist on the other's palm with a long "Oooh," and turned to her companion, who was still looking up at him. Izaya tried not to shuffle in his place as the she questioned this "Yumimi" something and he replied in that weird language of his. The two nodded before long and simultaneously turned their faces towards him.

"You're the one who killed that gangbanger, right? The 'Peter Pan' they were talking about, right?"

Again, Izaya found himself staring at the girl. Killed? But the last time he had killed someone was…

"You know Ryuu-nii right? Well he had a jacket that looked juuuust like that," she said, swinging her hands wide open for what he supposed was emphasis, "and it was … what was it again?" Yumimi mumbled something and the girl nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! 'Custom-made's' what it was! He said something about there only being one of them in the whole wide world."

Her words moved faster from that motormouth of hers than the former bird could keep up with, but he understood the gist of it and shifted one hand to grasp the coat that he always wore.

It was something of a sore topic between Shinra and him over the past half-year that they'd lived together. Shinra wanted to throw it out and have him get something "less ratty" (which, in Shinra's oh-so-magnificent opinion, was a lab coat), but his new student-cum-tenant wouldn't hear of it. In fact, Celty had found it necessary to dub the words "Izaya's coat" taboo within the household because she was tired of pulling the two boys apart, with one trying very hard to bite the other and the other trying very hard to rip the coat bodily off him.

Was this girl trying to take the coat away from him too?

Quite honestly, he didn't know why he was so attached to the thing. It was starting to fall apart at the seams, and it was only thanks to Celty's constant interference that the garment ended up in the laundry at all and didn't stink up the whole apartment (and a 500 feet radius outside). Its cloth was even starting to bunch up into balls and what used to be smooth and sleek felt soft, worn, and bumpy.

But he loved the coat, almost as much as he did humans. It saved his life more than once and was practically his first actual possession. Then again, perhaps this was a different kind of "love." He didn't particularly feel like observing the coat; he just wanted to nestle in its warmth. No way was it rotting out in some dumpster where he found his past meals in. Or letting it fall into children's grubby little paws.

"We're not trying to take it," said the girl, as though she were reading his mind. The fox boy only nodded. "In fact, if you did, then that means you killed Ryuu-nii. And if you did, then we'd have to thank you. Because thanking people is what you do, right, Yumimi?"

Fox boy nodded. He bowed a little, blonde hair shadowing over his eyes. "Thanks," came a quiet mutter.

Thank? Had he done anything gratitude-worthy? Izaya thought back. He'd thought killing was looked down upon, wasn't it?

Gah, at least animals all had one opinion about a topic.

…Then again, that's what made humans so interesting.

"Haha! Don't mind Yumimi, he's shy. He doesn't know how to talk well either, so I do all the talking for him. Ryuu-nii was a baad, bad person, so now we're free to do whatever we want! Thanks, weird kid!"

Izaya clutched his coat tighter. While understanding them wasn't much of a problem, keeping up with the sheer pace of the words was giving him a headache that was starting to break out of his temples.

But, for now, it seemed like he was safe. He forced himself to relax.

"So, are you like Yumimi? Or can't you talk?"

Now or never, right?

"I am not reh-really good at talking," Izaya sounded out. He must've sounded odd because the girl tilted her head, like a confused bird.

"No, but you talk funny."

Yes, he knew that, thank you very much. "Practicing."

The girl hummed. She was about to open her mouth again when the boy tugged on her sleeve again. She listened to his whispers for a few seconds before nodding eagerly. "Ooh, that's a great idea! Hey, mister! Wanna come to lunch with us? We're getting some in celebration at the Chinese place!"

Chinese… Chinese. Chinese was noodles (the worm-food he had subsisted on for the greater half of his time as a mammal) and heavy sauces. Also rice and bad chicken-like things. It'd … been a while since he'd last had any, and he was honestly hungry.

Despite his warning bells about the duo, he nodded.

After all, he was older and bigger than they were. What could the problem be?

* * *

You have no idea, dear birdie. No idea.

Also, crowzaya would appreciate reviews. Reviews, please? =3


	12. Everyone is Different

Chapter 12! ...Helloooo do I still have any readers? ;_;

So, I've rewritten all of Watcher. OK OK, so it's not as bad as it sounds. I mostly reworked it a little so that it flows better. Readers may notice that one event is conspicuously missing (and all events relating to that event). I apologize if this makes people mad, but I felt compelled to change it after reading Durarara novels.

Rereading isn't necessary, but it could be fun...

On a side note, I'm all revved up to finish Watcher in one fell swoop. ...Which means that it'll probably be finished within the next year, given my speed...

Anyways, on with the chapter! Hope you enjoy! Please review!

glhfdd?

* * *

**Chapter 12**

"Shinra?"

"Hm?"

"Do you kill people?"

Izaya watched food fly from Shinra's mouth at his query.

Well, **he** had thought it was a perfectly legitimate question.

"Wh-wh-what? Where did that come from?"

"You always like to kill mice and rats. I found a pigeon on the table the other day."

"That's different. That's dissection! Dissection is an art, and it's in the name of science. You learn something every time, like the locations of the muscles and tendons and ligaments."

He didn't want to learn where those things were anyways. "So, it's OK to dissect humans then?"

"What? No! I didn't say that! Izaya, stop putting words in my mouth!" Shinra turned to the last tenant in the apartment. "Celty, do somethiiiing. Izaya's being mean. "

The helmeted woman (even at the dinner table) pointedly did not bring her PDA out.

"Et tu?" Shinra dramatically placed a hand over his chest, acting like a wounded … dying fish. Yes, that's what he looked like. Izaya rolled his eyes.

"But really, Izaya, you've gotten really good at talking lately. It's hard to believe that only a few months ago, you couldn't even communicate with us."

Izaya nodded vaguely in agreement. Mulling the rice over in his mouth, he supposed it was actually because of the later-constant lunch invitations to various fast-food restaurants all over Ikebukuro. Erika and Walker (as their actual names were) were actually very helpful … after he sorted through everything at motormouth-speed and all the absolutely useless information that spouted from their mouths. (Who the hell were Kurama and Hiei anyways?) They (or rather, she) talked so much that Izaya just picked up more and more of the language, faster than ever before, especially because he was actually required to respond.

If he didn't Erika would start poking him with one of the forks, butter knives, or even steak knives on the table. He'd learned quickly.

Walker actually wasn't so much quiet as he didn't know the language. Izaya felt a sort of vague kinship with him. He also sympathized with him. Poor guy, always being strung along by a girl like that.

"Plus, you've made friends too. What were their names, Karisawa and Yuumazaki? Cute kids, weren't they?"

[They're only a few years younger than the two of you,] replied Celty.

"Well of course, everyone's the same age to you. N-not that you're old or anything, of course! Celty is like the spring blossom that blooms year after year, always as beautiful as the last – no, even more beautiful than the last-OW"

[Will you stop that creepy way you talk about things? It's disgusting.]

"Creepy? It's not creepy, I'm just declaring my undying love for you. I don't talk like this about everything… OK, maybe I do, but I put in extra effort when it involves you, my dear Celty."

Izaya tuned out the daily argument between the other two – it seemed like they hadn't reached their quota yet. Friends… Not really. Friends were something different. Izaya didn't know how, but they simply were. He liked Erika and Walker, the same way he liked Shinra and Celty, but then again he liked the office lady one floor down and the businessman across the street too. He felt the same way about the whole of the human race. He got along with everyone, and everyone got along with him.

That's just how it was. That's just the way he liked it. It was like constantly being bathed in a comforting wave, stable and heartwarming.

So lost in his thoughts, Izaya jumped in his seat when Shinra poked him in the forehead. "You done? It's your turn to do the dishes."

Sigh, but chores would always exist, no matter what form he was in. It's just changed from territory watching to dish washing, preening to laundry.

Izaya just nodded.

"You know, Izaya, you should talk more."

"Why?"

[You are quiet, especially in contrast to Shinra, who's your age.]

"That's just me declaring my love for yo- OK OK I'll stop! Ahem. Anyways, talking is communication, Izaya. If you don't communicate, you don't get your ideas across, capiche? Communication is how humans have come to be where they are today, after all! At first, it was messages in bottles, and then it was letters in the mail, and now the telephone! And sooner, people are going to find more ways to communicate in faster ways than ever before."

"…So?"

"**So**, with communication, it's how all of the world is connected. I could get to know what's happening in the Americas if I wanted to, provided I know how to find it. I could keep tabs on Celty at any time of the day."

[You're off-topic, Shinra.]

"Thank you for not jabbing me, my dearest. Besides, if you don't communicate, you'll never be able to tell what you're thinking. For example, if you tell me you want orange juice, then one of us would go to the store tomorrow to get it. If you never did, then we never would because neither of us drink it."

Izaya paused in his sponging. That … was a good point. If he never got his thoughts across… No, more importantly, people reacted to what one said. It didn't matter if it were his thoughts or something he pretended to think. People would respond to it.

In fact, something of the ilk had happened before. Shinra had gotten to taking advantage of Izaya's extra set of hands and had started to send him to the grocery store in his stead. When he'd protested that he couldn't read that well yet, Shinra had just said, "Well, this is perfect practice then!" Needless to say, mistakes were made, and interesting dinners resulted.

He never wanted to taste another box of noodles in his life.

During one of those expeditions, an old lady who was standing in front of him in the checkout lane noticed that he was shopping alone. He supposed humans of ten really never did such things. When asked about his parents, he'd responded that they'd died long ago (well, it was the truth). The woman had stood shocked and she almost looked like she was about to hug him before she caught herself. Instead, she satisfied herself with buying a package of cookies and giving them to him afterwards.

He'd given his thanks like a good little boy and polished them off on his way home.

Death was such a funny thing. He'd always thought it was obvious. It was something that came at the end of life. It didn't need thinking about; all you had to do was do your best to avoid it. It was just that.

But with others… Erika and Walker had rejoiced when they said he'd killed his coat's former owner. Shinra had acted appalled at the hint that he would commit murder, even if it was only because Celty would strongly disapprove. The old lady had almost cried when he'd mentioned his parents, and there wasn't even any killing involved!

Such varied reactions. Humans were such odd things…

"Hey, Earth to Izaya. Are you listening? You've been wiping that dish for the past five minutes."

"Huh?" Izaya returned to himself. The dish pile was just as huge as ever. He sighed and put the one in his hand to the side.

As he took up the next one, Celty and Shinra's one-sided banter picked up again. He tuned them out again and, after a moment's thought, made up his mind and formed tomorrow's plans.

Yes, it was going to be a busy day.


	13. Just an Innocent Question

A quick gift for those who have waited patiently for the next chapters, only to have me go off on a rewriting spree.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Sometimes, it was hard for Izaya to remember he was an eleven year old. More precisely, it was hard for him to remember that being eleven was being a child, and not an adult.

But now, this dissonance served to his advantage.

As a child, he could only do so much. But he learned that by putting himself in danger, others felt forced to act. And in the dark, sometimes he would stalk, act as the predator. Would the prey run? Or would it fight? Depending on the personality, extenuating circumstances, settings, emotions, it was all up to chance. He couldn't cause a certain outcome to happen 100% of the time.

But that was where the fun was.

When put into a life-threatening situation, most living organisms would either run or fight back. "Fight or flight," as it was. He'd read about it in a biology textbook Shinra had. It made sense, although as a crow, it had always been the latter. And now, as a human … well, let's just say that at least a crow had a beak. As a child with short limbs and an incomplete constitution, even if he was armed with his knife, he was still at an enormous disadvantage. Flight it is.

"Let me down, please! I'm begging you! Let me down!"

Humans seemed to be the same way. When cornered, they would either threaten or run.

They were just so much **noisier** about it.

He closed his eyes, relishing the breeze from the building-top. It was cool, providing relief from the quickly warming weather. He wondered just how out of place he looked. A boy standing at the apex of a building at night, arms outstretched as though he were going to take a plunge off.

His "companion" tied by the feet, hanging off the railing, off the building.

"It's such wonderful weather, isn't it?"

"Please! Anything you want! Just put the fire out!"

A flame was licking at the length of rope that hung before the man. It traveled up, over the railing, and was what connected the railing to the man's feet.

Izaya had made sure that no one would miss this man. No one would come looking for him. No one noticed a child playing with chalk at a street corner. (As a result, there was quite a collection of multicolor graffiti there.)

But seriously, all this guy had been doing was beg. The fire was nearing Izaya's feet. He lifted his shoe.

"Thank you, thank you!" came the tear-mangled cry.

The fire continued to gnaw the rope.

More of it burned.

…and more of it…

…and more.

The red flower continued devouring the rope and passed him by.

He didn't relish in the wail of despair from the drunkard. He found no entertainment in torturing the man. He just simply wanted to see how he would act. However, the man was a blathering mess. He didn't even answer his questions at all. All he'd done was wail harder than before and start flailing.

Was "What do you think about dying?" that bad a question?

The small flame continued inching its way down the rope. But by now, the man was silent. He had passed out.

With a sigh, Izaya snuffed the flame. It wasn't like the guy would have fallen anyways. Bricks securing the rope made sure of that. Either way, the whole thing was a complete waste of time.

Perhaps it was too much all at once? He'd thought with their intelligence, humans would be able to withstand more pressure because they could reason their way through a situation like this and see that, duh, there was no way he would kill them. There was nothing to be gained.

On the contrary, perhaps the intelligence meant that they were more fragile, always imagining things that had yet to happen.

He'd have to be more careful next time, he thought as he hauled the man up, using the railing as a sort of pulley. He left the fool on the roof and scattered the bricks, which had sat on the rope to hold the man in place even if the rope **had** burned, innocuously across the roof. The half-charred remains of the rope, he took with him.

Izaya left the scene, leaving no traces of himself behind except for the collapsed man.


	14. Dysfunctional Family

**Chapter 14**

Izaya twirled his pencil around.

Around and around.

Then he balanced it on his lips.

Then he put it on his nose and tried to balance it there.

It clattered to the floor.

He tried again.

It just wasn't coming to him. He didn't really know what to do to see more sides of the human race. He'd concluded that he'd gone too far before, but then, with another (after all, you need to do something several times to make sure it always has the same effect, right?) the person had acted completely apathetic. From one extreme to the next.

No, he needed to get more of a handle on these things. Otherwise, it would all just spiral out of control.

The pencil on his nose fell off again.

He jumped when there was a bang beside him.

"Will you stop that? I'm trying to do homework here! Celtyyy make him stop?"

The masked rider very pointedly did not pay any attention to the whining boy.

"Izaya, you heard her! Stop that!"

"She doesn't talk, Shinra."

"That doesn't matter! She wishes it in her heart! I can tell!"

"You're talking in exclamation points."

"Yes, yes, you're right. Calm, I'm Kokytos, I'm down, I'm depressed, phew. Deep breath."

"That might be going a bit too far."

He'd thought this before, but even from his outsider's point of view, Shinra was very odd. He always talked much more than he needed to, and it was always very flowery. Rich in detail … that didn't really mean anything. To be honest, most of it flew over Izaya's head. He also seemed only to have eyes for Celty. Rather, the only reason he himself had been taken in was because he knew Celty would approve.

As for the lady in question, she seemed oblivious to it all. To be more precise, she was more or less exasperatedly annoyed. Probably because she didn't understand it.

Not to say that Izaya did any more than she did.

Celty was odd too. She always had that strange device, the PDA, with her, even though he'd never seen anything like it before. She'd told him not to worry about it when he'd asked, that he'd eventually understand. He didn't see what there was to understand. He just wanted to know what it really was.

Then there was the fact that she didn't talk, and that even when she was inside, she was wearing her helmet. She always left for long trips outside, and when she came back she'd always give her bike a washing down. Sometimes he heard knickers of happiness coming from the thing. As far as he knew, bikes weren't supposed to make noise, though…

Add that to the fact that he always got the creeps around her, and he found himself always incapable of completely relaxing around the masked rider. They got along well enough, but she herself seemed to keep her distance more often than not, and he was on his guard. In addition, she didn't seem to ever eat or drink…

He wondered what was beneath the mask. Maybe she'd somehow developed a way to eat without a mouth, like a plant. He'd read that they made their food within their bodies. (The things he learns … but then again, plants would be absolutely boring to watch, even if they were really alive.)

"I don't like those eyes you're making at my Celty, Izaya. Are you planning on being the Iago?"

"Huh? Stop saying things I don't understand."

"Tsk, tsk, looks like you've got a long way to go, then." Shinra puffed his chest out.

Despite the occasional discomfort thanks to the female and the occasional utter idiocy from the boy, Izaya found himself settling nicely into this life. He should be moving soon, though. Soon he'd have learned all he could from this place, and then there'd be no purpose in staying here anymore.

But maybe just for a little longer…

Unfortunately, a large bang at the door announced the arrival of a typhoon that would completely change the Kishitani residence forever.

They weren't expecting any visitors. All three of them jumped, and Izaya leapt away from the table and withdrew his knife as he backed against the wall.

"Shinra, my dear son, how have you been? Celty, my specimen, what about you? Hm? A guest? Hmm…"

He wore a white coat like Shinra, but he was a head taller. Izaya couldn't tell how old he was because of the mask covering his face. Despite not being able to see his eyes, the former bird couldn't help but shudder as he felt a piercing gaze rest upon him.

Hm? A mask … the same feeling of discomfort…

"Mister, are you married to Celty?"


	15. Midnight Conversation

Just a reminder: this fic aims to be as close to canon as possible.

How I'm going to manage that is anyone's guess, but that's the goal =P

That being said, enjoy! Don't forget to give a fanfic writer her bread and water!

(ie, please review~~)

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Izaya peeked out from his room to see if the coast was clear.

Not a person in sight.

All was silent.

He stuck his foot out … softly. Not a sound, one step after the next. He was almost to the door.

Just a foot away…

The sudden break of the silence caused him to jump a foot into the air. He scrambled for the exit before realizing that it was just a snore and that there was still no one up and about.

With a half relieved, half exasperated sigh, Izaya straightened up.

If Izaya had thought Shinra and Celty were weird, Kishitani Shingen surely took the cake. In fact, it was like melding the two together. He had Celty's weird masked appearance ("You can never be too safe from infectious diseases!") along with Shinra's oddball personality. And then there was the fact that Shingen was all white, like Shinra, in contrast to Celty's pitch-blackness.

Could you really blame him for thinking they were mates, with Shinra as the demented offspring?

(Shinra didn't take the brilliant show of deduction – which Izaya thought was quite ingenious – very well and refused to talk to Izaya for a week before Izaya managed to bribe him with the help of Celty.) (Izaya also vowed never to mention his fainting episode to anyone.)

But really, none of that mattered, because what was most important for Izaya right now was keeping Shingen **away** from himself!

Just as Izaya's hand met the door, he felt a shiver down his neck.

And then he heard the deep _heee huuu heee huuu_ breaths behind him.

A hand grabbed his collar.

Before he could even yelp, another hand covered his mouth.

"Now, now, Izaya, we can't have you leaving now, can we? We still have to find out just what makes up that amazing constitution of yours."

Now we didn't!

"Don't worry, it'll all be over before you can say-OOF!"

Shingen curled in within himself.

A door opened, and the man's son peeked out, mussed hair and no glasses. "Dad? Is that you again?" After a moment's pause, during which Shingen could not voice a reply, Shinra continued. "Keep this up, and you'll have to say good bye to your priceless jewels."

"Oh, what did I do to deserve such heartlessness from my own flesh and blood?" the man managed to croak out.

"When Celty told you to stop and you didn't." With that, the door slammed shut.

By this time, Izaya was long gone from the apartment.

When he had first met the man, the boy had made a big mistake. He had jumped back with much too much speed for a normal human.

And Shingen, the supernatural maniac, had zeroed in on it like a falcon.

It was just that very speed that was carrying Izaya flying down the streets. Panting, he reached the park where he flopped down on the bench.

It looked like it was going to be another day outside until Celty came to signal peaceful skies. She always appeared late at night (only when it was safe and unsuspicious), but it was always after the creepy white coat man had left the shores of consciousness.

The sun rose and set, but this time, the rider did not come. Not in the mood for camping, Izaya returned anyways.

Upon entering, he immediately saw why.

The dining room lights were on, and at the table (he couldn't see his expression thanks to that ever-present makes, but he hoped he was in pain. That was a good kick he'd gotten in there) was Shingen, hands folded, the very image of patience.

"Welcome back, my prodigal son."

Izaya's eyebrow twitched.

"Uhm, I mean, hello, Izaya. Why don't you have a seat, and we'll have a nice father-son talk?"

"You're not my father. I'd rather have a goose than you for one."

"Straight to the point, I see! Well, I'll just match that with a question of my own.

…

So how is it, living among humans?"

Izaya froze.

"What, did you think it was some big secret? Oh, because my idiot son doesn't know? He has skewed standards, doting after Celty every breathing moment of his life, and probably every other moment too." The doctor waved his hand, as though to casually dismiss the issue.

But the crow's ears caught the words already. Celty was..?

The conversation had already moved on, though.

"So? Come on, your progress. Let's hear it."

Izaya opened his mouth, but no voice came. No, he shouldn't be talking to this man. It was dangerous.

(But it seemed like he knew everything already…)

"Cat got your tongue? I know you can talk. Hmm hmm, you already seem to have a firm grasp of the emotions. Maybe of cultural phenomenon too? Societal structure? All in only a year too. Don't we have a little genius here."

Izaya bristled, but Shingen continued.

"I wonder what you are? Fae? Were? No, those would already have knowledge… A morph? …An alien?"

Despite himself, Izaya snorted.

"Oh come on, if you can scoff, you can at least answer my question."

"I think you're mistaken, Mr. Kishitani. I had a little accident and lost all my memories a year or so ago. That's all that happened," Izaya responded.

"You can't expect me to believe that. Well, whatever. That still doesn't explain your extraordinary healing ability and superhuman abilities, though?"

The boy kept his silence. What was this man talking about?

"There's no use hiding it. Shinra told me how you woke from a fractured shoulder with almost no injuries the very next day, not to mention a concussion. Impressive, to say the least.

And don't think I didn't see your performance that night. That was an impressive leap, and excellent reaction time with your knife."

Still no response.

"Well, then, you would know that it's normally impossible for a child of about ten…"

After some hesitance, he filled in the blank. "Eleven."

"Eleven, then. A child of eleven to lift a full grown man off the ground? Even if it is with quite some trouble."

What?

"Ah ah, I see from your reaction that I hit the nail on the head? Don't underestimate the great Shingen! He can find anything he wants, if he sets his mind to it."

How did this … idiotic, strange man know?

"So, how about it? Is that enough evidence to prove I'm not bluffing?"

Izaya _tsk_ed. There was no way out of this, was there? "Crow."

"Huh?"

"I said, 'Crow.'"

"…That's it?"

He twitched again. "What do you mean that's it?"

"Ah, no offense and all, but I was expecting something more … fantastical. Hmm, maybe there's something more to it…"

"Then I don't know anything more than you do. Now will you stop bothering me and turn that scalpel somewhere else? Preferably around towards your own throat?"

"Harsh as ever. You know that mouth of yours is going to get yourself in trouble one day."

"Then that'd be the perfect opportunity to show them that no one can catch me."

A silence stretched between the two of them. Izaya hoped it was the end of the conversation, but it looked like Shingen had something else he wanted to say. "Well? Spit it out."

"Ah, you can tell even with this mask on? As expected of an animal attuned to body language."

"Don't make me stab you."

"Haha, please put that knife away. Just a word of warning."

"Huh?"

"Don't let yourself grow bored. I'll admit, it irks me that I don't know the specifics, but I have a few theories. That aside, entertaining yourself with humans is a dangerous sport. You'll find they'll bite back surprisingly hard."

Something snapped. "I think you're mistaken, old man. Insult others? Bring it on. That'll just be more interesting. Thanks for the suggestion, I'll try to do it more often. Dangerous? That's just perfect. It's no fun spectating if there's no sport to watch! The more that fight back, the better. That's just the beauty of humans."

"Hmm," was the older man's only reply. It echoed in the gas mask and felt like it was coming out of a long tunnel. To Izaya, it felt like it was this man, rather than himself, who was watching everything going on in the world from a distance. "Then I hope you keep yourself amused to the fullest. I'd hate to see what'd happen if you grew bored."

Again, no one talked. The conversation was over. Izaya turned to leave for his room, but before he reached the door, Shingen's voice reached his ears.

"Still, I **would** like a sample…"

Izaya slammed the door shut with a _Bang!_ He flopped down on the bed.

He'd almost lost his temper. The thought just put him in even worse a mood than before.

He buried his face into the pillows and tried to sleep.


	16. School Bell Rings

**Chapter 16**

Izaya stared out the window dazedly. The sun was still high in the sky, and the clock was still ticking as slowly as ever.

Schooldays always went by so sluggishly.

"Mr. Kishitani Izaya? Would you like to answer this question?"

He didn't jump like the teacher had probably hoped he would. He glanced over at the blackboard boredly. Did some quick calculations. "56x3."

The teacher blinked. "Yes … that is correct." With only another slight pause, she continued with her lesson.

Fool, had she thought he would be caught off guard this easily? He wasn't bored because he held no interest in the material. He was bored because he knew all of it already.

Damn that Shinra. This was all his fault, convincing him to go to a stuffy place like this. When Celty had first suggested school, Izaya himself had rejoiced. It was a chance to mingle with others his (apparent) age in a natural setting. He loved humans, and it was only natural that he would be happier being closer to them. On top of everything, icing on the cake, it was the perfect excuse to get away from Shingen, though he'd heard that the quack was going overseas again soon.

The first few days were fine. The material was new, the students were new, the teachers were new, the setting was new. All was great.

But as the days whittled on, it just all grew into a big bore. It was the same day after day after day after day. At this rate, Izaya worried that his brain would turn into a pile of mush.

"'You're twelve! You should get out of the house more!' my ass, Shinra," he mumbled as he flopped his head in his arms.

The bell rang. Izaya blinked blearily from the nest of his arms. Students were milling about, rummaging through their bags, grabbing lunch boxes. He picked up his own bag and slouched out of the classroom.

"There he goes again."

"Oh come on, he's nice if you actually talk to him."

"Yeah, he's just a dick every other time."

"Don't say things like that!"

"You just like him because he does his homework for you."

The voices reached his ears before he shut the door.

What they said was true. In all honesty, so much human contact was a bit stifling, so he actually found himself making space for breathing room.

As for the favors? Well, let's say they weren't free…

"There you are, Izaya! I've been looking for you!" Shinra waved from his spot on the roof as Izaya made his way over.

"What are you doing here. "

"Well, I never get to see my little pupil take wing, so I'm here to che- …Izaya, put that down!"

Izaya responded by only minutely shifting the blade down a few centimeters.

"A little further from the neck, please?"

With a sigh, Izaya flipped the blade into the handle of his new knife. "So? Why **are** you here?"

"I was telling the truth! How could you ever accuse me of lying? Anyways, Celty told me to bring this to you or else she'd stop talking to me for a month."

"This" was a small lunch box. It was completely devoid of the flower details usually present from a female-made lunchbox, but…

"Hmm, I'll thank her when I get back." He took the box and sat down adjacent to the other boy. The rice was a bit salty (why … was it salty? Since when did cooking rice even involve adding salt?), but otherwise, the simple lunch was palatable. "I'll go wander some before the bell rings."

Shinra waved. "Don't worry about Celty! I'll tell her you enjoyed her scrumptious cooking!"

The other was always so hyper-aware of Celty, it was bordering obsession. No, it **was** an obsession.

It was odd, what with him loving humans so much and someone he lives specifically loving something not human. In fact, he had the slight suspicion that Shinra just didn't really bother with most of the human race, which was why anything he hears that he doesn't like promptly flows in one ear and out the other.

(Anything that doesn't concern Celty, that is.)

Unlike him, though, Izaya couldn't help but notice every whisper.

"Look at that weirdo. They're hanging out again."

"You think they're gay?"

"No way, I hear the four eyes is in love with his experiments."

"That's just nasty."

_Those voices belong to…_

Izaya hurried past the locker room where the girls were changing into their swimwear and towards his entrance of the school.

Unlike the rest who rushed to leave, he slowly lingered by the gate.

And the fish took the bait.

A girl called to him from behind. "Hey Izaya, there you are! I was just wondering if you could help me with tonight's assignments…"

He greeted her with a smile. She was a regular, and she was one of the best at fulfilling his requests. _Perfect. _"It'll cost you."

"Nah, at least you're not charging me an arm and a leg, and I know you always get it right, unlike **someone** I know." At this, the girl (what was her name again…?) flung a look at a boy sulking behind her.

"It'll be my pleasure doing business with you, then," said Izaya. He turned, leading the way, and the girl followed.

"What'll it be this time?"

"Hmm," he pretended to think. He tapped his lip as he turned his gaze skywards. "How about… What's new on the swim team captain and vice-captain?"

"Ooh, that's an easy one. I hear the captain's been having troubles with her boyfriend lately and the other … well, just you wait and listen…"

Izaya let the rumors flow and he mentally took note of every last detail.

If he had to comment, he'd say he was the kind who tore off band-aids quickly.

_It's more painful that way._

So easy, all those two'd need is a little push.

_And everything from then on is decided by them. Their actions. Whether they get out of the mire or get stuck and drown is based on that dear human unpredictability._

_It's all a gamble._

Let the fun begin.


	17. Incomprehensible

...and now we get to where the novel's covered.

I shouldn't be proud of this, but this one's the shortest chapter to date.

Thank you for everyone who's reviewed!

* * *

**Chapter 17**

The blood wouldn't leave his hands.

He scrubbed at them vigorously, nails scratching at the side of and under his fingernails, but he could still see they were tinged red.

He was used to blood. He had killed sparrows and jays before, tasting their blood as they went down his throat. Hell, it used to be a lot more gruesome than just a stab wound.

Then why was this blood so persistent? He hadn't even injured the other (but he'd told him to say he had). If anything, he should be completely untouched by everything.

Izaya recalled Nakura's panicked expression and felt the rage in his heart well again. Anger that the spineless grub actually dared to stab one of his acquaintances. That Izaya himself hadn't been able to prevent it. That Shinra was stupid enough to jump in between them. Unreal enough. Illogical enough.

The former crow didn't understand Shinra's actions. The other could have done any number of things that could have gotten Celty's approval – provided that he was telling the truth about his excuse – like let him get stabbed and then taking over the first aid. In fact, if there hadn't been the interruption, Nakura wouldn't have gotten the blade anywhere near his flesh anyways; he had anticipated the blow and was about to dodge.

Then what Shinra did was all for naught?

He didn't know why he told Shinra to do as he told. He had no doubt that the other would follow his request too. He was just that kind of person, pretending to be nice to everyone only because of his "one true love," when in fact he didn't care a lick about the rest of the world.

Such devotion was unheard of for Izaya. He'd heard of bonding. His parents had shared the same thing. A bothersome problem, the bird had thought it. It only tied you down. He'd opted for a life of solitude because he felt freer that way – he was free to watch over the love of **his** life without any interference. Even if they would never love him back.

But he wouldn't lay his life down for any single human.

They'd always scolded him, for always running away when he should have stayed and fight. The others had looked down on him, called him a runt and an outsider. No one approached him (and of course no females. What a laugh that would be!) until finally, when he had finished his fledgling years, he left his parent's nest without looking back.

Running was the easiest way to get away from trouble, and you always had your life intact to start over.

On his part, Izaya had always thought the others of his species reckless dolts for not realizing the dangers of mobbing owls or falcons.

He splashed water in his face before twisting the faucet shut.

…Whatever, it was all in the past anyways.

He was in a new life, and he had a reputation to start building.

This was the perfect start.

Nakura would never forget this day.

Izaya would make sure of it.


	18. Lifelong Friendship

I decided to post these two chapters (18 and 17) at the same time since both are really short.

Also, anything that looks familiar in this chapter is the product of the Durarara anime.

(And lastly, a warning that there is dirty language in this chapter. Namely of the four-letter kind.)

* * *

**Chapter 18**

"Izaya, I want you to meet my new friend. He's in my class. Shizuo, this is my cousin, Izaya. He's been staying with me since elementary school. He's kind of a sleazeball."

"That's horrible of you, Shinra."

"Haha, I didn't mean it in a bad way! Anyways, Izaya, this is Heiwajima Shizuo."

Izaya cocked his head – an old habit he had yet to get rid of – as he assessed the unusual teenager before him. His hair was wheat-colored, probably bleached, and he was a good foot taller than he was. He seemed like a quiet person, like his name implied. He looked vaguely familiar. After a moment's thought, he recognized him. He was the splash of blond that was among all the black and browns in the crowd he'd spotted when he was watching the students enter for the entrance ceremony. The color was so unusual, that his eyes had just followed him naturally.

Looking closer, he'd seen this person somewhere else before. Maybe it was the eyes that gave him away – definitely wasn't his hair color at least. It was … quite a while ago, even a while before he turned…

Either way, it was never more blatant than now as to exactly why this Shizuo was so very unusual, not when there were at least fifty other teenagers strewn about on the football field and a wrecked goal net lying only a few feet away from the so-called "peaceful man."

Just as he was about to jump down to offer his hand, though, Shizuo spoke up.

"I don't like you."

Izaya froze. Then he bristled briefly before slipping into the calm exterior that he'd adopted when dealing with others. "Oh? Well, that's just too bad. Here I was hoping that we'd get along like best buds."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Aw, don't be that way, Shizuoooo." (Even Izaya thought that his persona was somewhat of a bastard. It just came out that way. What did that say about himself?)

A tick in Shizuo's temple was all the warning he had.

The punch was expected. He table he was sitting on crumpling to bits like a cracker smashed with a hammer wasn't, though.

When his faithful knife knicked Shizuo across the chest, Izaya knew with a sense of ominous foreboding that this was going to be a long, everlasting "friendship."

Sayonara, days of normalcy.


	19. Surprise Reunion

Finally, a longer chapter! As well as some familiar faces =)

Hope you enjoy!

Oh, and warnings abound here too. Really, they're in high school. High school kids swear.

Again, please review! I always enjoy reading them, and I always try to respond. I appreciate all the faves and alerts, but reviews are the best of the bunch. *huggles reviewers*

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Heiwajima Shizuo was generally a quiet, demure young man of 15 whose only defining trait was his shockingly blond hair (given his age … then again, people were dying their hair at a younger and younger age). He did not like conflict, violence, or confrontation. He just liked being left alone. Unfortunately all three of these things always came to Shizuo in spades, and that was when he did what he was most famous for.

Reports here differed. One argued that his specialty was ripping vending machines from the ground and hurling them, along with the occasional trashcan. Another asserted that, no, people were far more likely throwing objects than inanimate things. A paper graciously likened the teenager to a rampaging stampede of elephants that had a particular hostile intention towards a certain building (and thereby resulting in said building's complete and utter destruction).

Izaya was lucky enough to witness all of these events which he'd collected from his information network.

Unfortunately, he was also the very target of said assaults.

"IIIIZAAAAAYAAAAA!"

Idiot, like he'd stop just because the walking natural disaster told him to!

Black coat flapping behind him, he swerved a hard left down an alley that brought him to a dead end. Sidestepping a trashcan that was thrown with such force the wind almost shoved him forward an extra step, Izaya jumped and grabbed onto one of the ladders hanging down from the side of the building and swung. He deftly landed on top of the wall in front of him. He looked down. The can was rolling on the ground … kind of like how a flipped coin circled around a big before finally stopping, flat as it was. Then he looked up, and there was the raging demon himself, gasping and panting for breath.

Even Izaya had to admit, the wild anger in Shizuo's eyes were pretty frightening. The fact that the other was a few good inches taller than him didn't help any.

Yet, he couldn't help himself.

"That was a close one, Shizu! Why don't you try throwing it a little harder next time?" he taunted before hopping down the wall and out of sight.

Shizuo's roar of frustration made him wince despite the distance between the two.

After a good ten minute's run down the open streets, Izaya felt safe enough to sidle into one of the more deserted roads and break down into laughter.

Adrenaline high? Perhaps. Escaping with his life from the clutches of death? Maybe.

Though admittedly, the bastard's expression was pretty damn hilarious.

Ever since the disastrous first meeting between the two, everything just started going downhill. Even during school, if the two met in a hall on their way to class, this giant vein would **twitch** on Shizuo's forehead, which the Izaya took as a clear cue to get the hell away and out. He didn't understand why the other hated him so much (although recently, he'd been garnering that sort of reaction recently from a lot of guys whose girlfriends' he was acquainted with). It wasn't like he'd personally insulted him. The knife wound was a retaliation.

After a few days, the blonde's patience seemed to have run out with a resounding snap. Literally. The staff of the school quickly learned in the following week that if the two were anywhere in the vicinity of one another, a window would immediately be broken as Izaya jumped (of course, from the first floor only) and Shizuo (not necessarily the first floor, but he'd remained uninjured nonetheless) followed the other out of the building.

On Izaya's part … it wasn't like he really disliked him, at first. He'd seemed interesting, and he was a friend of Shinra's so it seemed worth it to at least put forth an effort to make an acquaintance. He'd gotten a cold chill when he'd seen the unrealistic display of strength that fateful day on the soccer field. This was by a human? He hadn't thought it possible. It was like in those comic book movies that Shinra had assured him (and Celty) were only special effects and therefore not real.

The hatred from the other only made it easier to hate him in turn. There was no reason to waste any effort in getting to know someone if you could get to know many other someones in the meantime. Or if it were a very likely possibility you would end up a pasty red on the side of a wall. It wasn't like he needed people beyond acquaintances for contact and information.

And so when Shizuo bared his fangs, Izaya only responded to the challenge. In his own way, of course. The former had inhuman strength, and though he was a human, he was practically a monster, as unhuman one could get (himself excluded). On the other hand, Izaya preferred to run, run, run. And sometimes retaliate. Like with a big truck. Or with the police behind him.

No, Izaya's love did not extend to this person, especially not if his head could get crushed like a walnut. Run over by a car.

In addition, Shizuo was simple. The fledging informant's research turned up that the teenager's tastes were like a child's and that his logic slow and simple. He didn't like complicated things. In fact, complicated things tended to get destroyed when he was around. It was ironic and frustrating. Izaya couldn't comprehend how someone could be **that** simple, because simple in this case indicated anything from "puzzles" to "frustrations" to "talking too much."

Well. No **wonder** Shizuo hated him.

It was a very good thing Izaya was excellent on his feet, as Izaya led Shizuo on games of cat and mouse every time the latter spotted him. It wasn't like Izaya was looking for trouble, and though flying vending machines and collapsing buildings were life-threatening … really, school was getting obscenely boring. Even the students were all mundane; they almost felt like they had their souls sucked out of them.

Therefore, two birds with one stone. He got entertainment, and he manages to save his neck. Perfect.

Izaya checked his watch. School had long since closed. He resigned on picking up his bag, especially since Shinra was likely to do it for him anyways ("Look Celty, aren't I so thoughtful?" Izaya imitated, then shuddered at his own imitation), and started strolling the streets.

The night lights were starting to come on, and Izaya leaned against a lamppost, the neon lights on one store spark to life, and the great billboard of another flicker twice before settling on an image. Soon, the whole street was alive with lights. He looked up. The moon was great and round, although almost invisible thanks to the hazy clouds that usually blanketed Ikebukuro.

So caught in his musings about his exploits, though, he didn't notice another person walking towards him until a jerk in his shoulders told him he'd accidentally walked into the guy. Barely caring to stop, Izaya just turned and inclined his head a little before moving on. The other, on the other hand, stopped him.

"You, you're Kishitani Izaya, right?"

Izaya couldn't help a small jump. It always happened when someone called him by the full name. He was proud to have a last name, but at the same time … it wasn't really his. He was only borrowing the home for a while until he could take care of himself.

But this stranger didn't need to know that.

"Mm? And who's asking?"

The other looked to be his age, judging by his uniform. It was the same as Izaya's own (or what would have been Izaya's own had he not bent the rules a little and gotten it in black). A classmate, then. His hair was slicked back with that ever-popular gel, and he was more on the stocky than lanky side. He was also a good head taller than the former crow.

"Oh, uh, you don't know me. I'm from the class next to yours, Class…"

"2-E." Shinra's class then.

"Ah, yeah. Your cousin's class." The guy really looked like he wanted to be somewhere else at the moment, glancing every which way but his. "So … um…"

Izaya raised his eyebrows, but kept quiet, waiting for the other to groan his way through to an actual coherent sentence.

After a few seconds' effort, the teenager threw his hands up. "Gah, I don't know why the hell I'm doing this! I give up!" He was about to stalk off when **they** struck.

"Dotaaaaaaa, you can't give up now! You promised!"

"Yeah, Kadotaaa. Please? Please? Pretty please?"

Izaya looked at this Kadota person and felt his pain. He recognized those two. He'd been on the receiving end of … one of those pleading wide-eyed stares before. Wait, Walker too? **Really**? But he had been so quiet…

"Damn it, if you're here, then ask him yourself! Why are you dragging me into this!"

The girl swathed in a black schoolgirl uniform gave a long-practiced sigh, like she'd had to explain this a million times (she probably had, literally). "We've told you this already. We can't even get into the school, and you sit right next to him. I don't know why you don't want one yourself anyways. He's so…"

"2D-esque?" supplied the blonde. He still had those characteristic eyes of his, yet somehow he'd gotten the rest of his facial structure control down pat so that he seemed to be absolutely radiating with emotion. Right now, he was bouncing for joy.

"Yes, yes! Have you **seen** him out of school? He walks around with a white coat and everything! I heard he hangs out with the Rider too."

"Or would you rather ask the Black Bike for a sign?" If anything, Walker seemed even more elated at this possibility.

The two walking vocalization machines, luckily, hadn't seen Izaya, or perhaps they hadn't even recognized him, not with his signature coat (which was currently at the dry cleaner's, and it was stuffy over his school uniform anyways). It **had** been a while since he'd last seen him. Probably … two years? Three? …Wow, time really flew.

With a great heaving sigh, Kadota brought Izaya's attention back to the present world. He opened his mouth with great reluctance. "Your cousin, Shinra."

It was like pulling teeth. "Yes?"

"These two idiots want his autograph." Kadota completely and utterly ignored the whining cries of "That's mean!" and "But you love us!"

His … autograph? Was Shinra that popular? "Why don't you ask him yourself? He's in your class. You sit at most five seats away."

"Because it's shit-damn embarrassing, that's why."

Ah, well, he could understand that. That didn't make it any less embarrassing for Izaya to be the one asking, though. Hm, now that's a thought… "All right. I'll just tell him a secret admirer wants his lovely signature and tell him to make it extra flowery to his secret admirer," he grinned, "from his class."

"Huh?"

"Who is male."

"No fucking way." Izaya found himself smirking at the delightful look of disgust on Kadota's face.

Erika and Walker, though, seemed to catch on very quickly. "Yumacchi, do you think?"

"Yes, I do, Karisawa."

Kadota did not like where this was going. "Think what."

Izaya found himself walking over to the two and placed his arm around the pair's shoulders. "Oh, that's just a secret between the three of us."

"Izaya…"

Whatever Kadota was about to say was drowned out by the torrent of words that spewed from the younger duo's mouth. "Izaya?"

"What, you know him?"

Erika and Walker both did a up-down scan of him, during which Izaya struggled not to twitch. Actually, he probably looked more like a rooster, since he was puffing his chest out and his nose was high in the air.

What Walker said though really made him deflate. "You really don't look the same without that coat."

"Yeah, the Izaya I remembered was … hmm…"

"Mysterious?"

"Non-mundane."

"It's the school uniform."

"Definitely."

Well, it was true. With a shrug, Izaya continued the conversation. "Don't worry, Kadota, I'll get the autographs if you want." The boy in question looked supremely relieved, but Izaya wasn't finished yet. "In return, I want a favor."

Kadota's eyes narrowed and he tensed. Izaya was more or less a semi-delinquent in school, and his reputation preceded him. He was quite proud of it. "Don't worry, call it a favor for old acquaintances. How would you like dinner, as a celebration of our re-acquaintance?" This he addressed to Erika and Walker.

Walker nodded. "It's been a while since we've seen each other. It's only natural we'd want to celebrate with a big bang."

"Dotadota's paying!" Erika cried happily.

Kadota was spitting mad with indignation, but Izaya quite liked the idea. "OK. Then … hmm…" He tapped his arm a bit as he thought, although he had already decided on a place. He had come across the news in the gossip mill just that day, although he hadn't expected it to come in use at all. "Are you guys up for some sushi? A new place opened up. Kadota's paying."

The question was met with resounding cheers and a very load moan.


	20. This is What it's Like to be Normal

On a fairly random note, I don't have a beta. This doesn't particularly mean that I want one, but I just wanted to say that if you spot any factual errors (that aren't intentional) or typoes or writing mishaps of any sort, feel free to write me a review pointing it out. I'll fix it as soon as I can, if plausible. (If it's a major story point, well... sorry, no can do, but the attention to detail in a fic like mine is flattering =) )

On another random note, ... we're less than ten chapters from the end? Holy shiznits.

* * *

**Chapter 20**

"Sushi here. Great sushi! Rare sushi! This place to get sushi!"

The tall black man in front of the sushi stop was a very odd sight that, admittedly, Izaya hadn't seen outside of television before. He couldn't help but stop and stare at the towering giant who was wearing a traditional chef's uniform, handing out flyers.

He'd heard about it, but seeing it for himself was another thing altogether.

Erika and Walker, on the other hand, were not daunted.

"Come on, Dotadota! Stop being a slowpoke!"

"Hello, here to eat sushi?" The man actually had to bend down to get a good look at his customers.

"Yep, we're here for a feast! You've got room for…" Walker counted the posse, looking back (or maybe he was checking to make sure Kadota hadn't actually run out on them) "…four people?"

"We have room for as many as like! You want invite more, feel free!"

The blond gave a happy thumbs up and marched in, with Erika bouncing after him. She waved to the two lagging followers and disappeared around the doorway.

"How do you keep up with them?" Izaya couldn't help but ask. In all honesty, he was still larger and taller, but Izaya knew that he wanted to deal with the two menaces even less now than when they were only kids. He couldn't imagine having to deal with them on a regular basis. Maybe all the distant attitude from Kadota is actually a protection mechanism?

"What, you don't know?" Kadota practically sneered. Except he was a stoic person, and so it ended up being more of a deep frown. Izaya understood the emotion, though.

"It's not like I have the time to keep an eye on everyone in the school. Besides, you shouldn't be glad I haven't heard of you."

"Oh?"  
"It means you have no luck with girls."

At Kadota's nonplussed look, Izaya couldn't help but give a small snort of laughter. In all honesty, his "information network" **had** mentioned him, except it was in a "He's so scary I'm afraid to talk about him" way.

"They're neighbors. I've known them since they were kids." Izaya wondered if this meant that they were so … odd … thanks to Kadota in any way. "Whoa there, I know that look. I had nothing to do with that, you hear me? They started going all crazy on their own."

Izaya was about to open his mouth when a blonde head poked out from behind the door. "You're slow as slugs! A turtle! A **Steel** Pokémon is faster than you!" He disappeared again.

The older two … really had no words to respond to that.

When they finally entered the store ("Welcome to Russia Sushi!"), they found the hyperactive duo already happily eating in the back row.

"Gagh! That's my money that's disappearing down your throats!"

"It's all because you're so slooow, Dotadota," Erika mumbled through a full mouth, reaching forward to spear another sushi.

"'Dotadota' sounds like a mouthful. It's much worse than 'Yumimi' was." Izaya sat on the outside seat, closer to the aisle. He picked up his chopsticks as he mused over the options.

And options there were. Sushi was fish on rice, right? **Right?** Then what were meatballs doing on there? Or … those were rather familiar-looking noodles… He glance sideways at his classmate. Kadota looked a bit green.

The girl was completely undaunted by the strange menu. "Oh, yeah. I really like nicknames, but I'm kind of crap at coming up with them. Yumimi is Yumacchi now, and **he** was the one who suggested it, but Dota…"

"Kacchi or Kadocchi sounded werd," supplied Walker. He, likewise, was scarfing down the food like it was French fries or something.

Eh, if they were enjoying the food that much, it couldn't be that bad… Izaya finally decided to pick out a sashimi that seemed to have vermicelli on it. "What about 'Dotachin?'" he blurted out while cautiously inspecting what was going to enter his mouth.

There was a slight moment of silence.

The sushi was actually pretty good.

"Nooo, nononono. Don't get them starte-"

"That's awesome!" both said at once.

"-ed. …Too late." Kadota hid his face in his arms.

"If you're not going to eat, I'm helping myself," Izaya said as he reached forward for another one of the rainbow-colored sushi.

"They're never going to stop."

"Don't worry, they'll get tired of it soon."

"I doubt it."

"Though if they do, I kind of like Dotachin myself."

Kadota immediately sat straight as though he couldn't believe his ears. "I really hate you, you know that?"

"Eh, you and the rest of the guys at school."

"But we like Izaya," said Erika. "He's perfect fangirl material."

Izaya raised his eyebrows. 'Fangirl material?'

At his questioning look, Walker began to explain. In his own fashion. "There are rumors about you and Shizuo around the whole district. It's frankly really amazing. You're both like, real-life manga characters! Entrepreneurs! Mavericks bringing 2D into the world of 3D! If we had to assign a word to describe the two of you…"

"You're our idols. And our favorite pairing."

"Eh, leave me out of the slash." The blond had an uncomfortable frown on his lips.

"D'aww, don't be shy."

As the girl started to poke at her best friend's cheek, Izaya leaned over towards the one other normal person nearby. "What's 'slash?'"

Kadota shook his head. "I don't know, I don't wanna know, and I hope I never know. That's how it works with these guys."

"Aah," the former crow nodded. He stored the knowledge in the corner of his mind reserved for important information. He had to admit, while he'd gotten a lot better with dealing with people in general, these two were a learning curve all on their own.

A bit more stuffing of faces occurred between Erika, Walker, and Izaya before Kadota cut in.

"So, what's this favor you wanted?"

Izaya swallowed before replying. "Oh, it's nothing big." He turned towards Erika. "You do … cosplaying, right?" He said the word as though it were in a foreign language.

She nodded enthusiastically. "You're starting out? Want tips?"

"She's the best one in all of Ikebukuro," bragged Walker.

"It's not like you're the one playing dress-up, Yumasaki," said Kadota.

"Hush, Dotachin-"

"Don't call me that!"

Erika continued as though there were no interruption. "Cosplaying is much more than dress-up. It's an art."

"As much as that sounds fascinating, I'm asking more from a different perspective. Quite honestly, my coat's getting a bit rundown…"

"You mean this is all about your **coat**?" roaredKadota, causing the waiter and the cook from the restaurant to look over. After a shared look, the tall black man, the one who had greeted them, came over.

"No fighting? Fighting not good," he said in his garbled Japanese.

Izaya waved his hands, "Oh, no, no. Just a friendly argument among friends."

"Argument no good either. Want more sushi? Sushi make stomach better, make mood better too."

"Well, I'll just take you up on your offer then. I think I'll have more of the, uh," Izaya peered at the unfamiliar word on the menu, "J-Japchee? Sushi?"

"Japchae? One set coming right up!"

"Thanks a bunch!"

Kadota was frowning when Izaya turned back towards the table. "And who's going to pay for that? And why is there even Korean food at a Russian restaurant?"

"I thought we went over this already." Izaya played with his chopsticks a bit.

"And I don't really think 'Russia Sushi' qualifies as a Russian restaurant…" continued Walker.

"And you're the one paying, of course! We can't make a guest pay, and us two don't have any money," chimed in Erika. "So, soso, the coat. The one from Ryuu, way back? It **has** been like, three or four years. You mean that's the same one?"

Izaya nodded. "Just wondering if you could get one exactly like it." Seeing as how the original was custom-made, it wasn't possible to just go onto the internet to find one. "I'll pay for however much the tailoring costs…"

"Oh, no worries. Actually, I think it might be really easy…" the otaku drifted off in thought.

At the other's confused look, Walker filled him in. "We did say you and Shizuo are like, the ultimate manga characters come to life, right?"

He nodded.

"Well, you happen to have fans too."

"…I'm not sure whether to feel flattered or scared."

"Don't even bother try wrapping your head around their otaku world." Izaya was actually inclined to take Kadota' s advice.

"Well, we'll bring one over by the end of the week, so don't worry! We'll do it for free too!"

Izaya smiled. "So long as it's high quality, I don't really care where or how you get it."

At this, Erika had a thoughtful look on her face. "You know, you should do that more often."

"Hm?"

"Smile."

"I smile all the time."

"No, you have the 'I'm plotting something that will wipe your gene pool from the face of the planet' smile to match Shizuo's 'I will smash you into the wall and pulverize you until you're individual molecules' smile. This one's different."

Izaya didn't really understand, but he nodded anyways. Perhaps he needed to practice on his facial expressions more? Odd, though, since no one else had commented in all the six years he'd been human. At this time, the extra plate he had ordered came and he promptly dug in.

After the food was all gone, and everyone was done sitting away their full bellies, and after Kadota was done paying the bill (every last yen), they headed for the door. ("Come back later!" waved the waiter.)

"That was obscenely expensive, and I didn't even eat a speck of it," whined the taller teenager.

"No, it wasn't. Everything on the menu was really cheap," argued Walker.

"But you guys **ate** a lot! And didn't save any!"

"I can't tell if you're angrier because you so graciously paid for all of us," said Izaya, "or if because you didn't taste the wonderfulness of that delicious sushi."

"Just shut up."

"Don't worry, I kind of like you." They stopped at the corner of a block. "I'm going this way. I'll be waiting for that favor, Erika. See you at school, Dotachin!" Izaya started towards Shinra's apartment, completely ignoring Dotachin's furious glare.

"It was nice seeing you again, Izaiza!" waved Erika, along with Walker.

Izaya flinched. He kind of understood what the two's guardian felt like now.

Eh, but since he'd already started referring to the guy like that in his head, he may as well keep it. It sort of had a nice ring to it.

The restaurant was actually surprisingly good. Maybe he'd help it along a bit by spreading some rumors of his own on its food.

And maybe he'd get some takeout next time, he thought as he half-skipped, half-strutted down the sidewalk. Shinra would like it.

In an oddly good mood, he hummed a random tune all the way back to the apartment.


	21. Nothing Good Comes of Money and Love

Record for hardest chapter to write, ever. I'm simply not a confrontational type. I can only send this chapter off, waving all the while, and hope it floats on its own and that it's IC.

Please review? Reviews are important as input, so I can change little details if necessary, especially in instances like these. Makes me a better writer and all that jazz too.

* * *

**Chapter 21**

"Thank you for the business!"

The car door opened and Izaya stood and stretched, completely disregarding the presence of two armed bodyguards and the constantly etched frown on his client's face. While he would much rather not be associated with something like the Awakusu-kai, it made for great earnings and … well, really, he couldn't profess he loved the whole of the human race if he didn't get to know its darker side too, could he?

Besides, messing with these people, especially Shiki, who seemed to make it their personal goal to be serious and straight-laced just felt fulfilling.

Not that he'd do something that would destroy the job, though. Trust between both parties and all that.

Bundled in his warm coat (a new one that looked exactly the same as the original, which already had a few holes worn into it), he made his way towards the lighter streets. Around him, people milled about on their own business. Some were curled in on themselves, trying to conserve whatever heat they could from the sudden frigid temperature drop, signaling the coming of winter. Others wrapped themselves in scarves and gloves and hats, each breath bringing forth a puff of steam.

He rounded the corner and a familiar towering mass came into view.

"Hey, Simon! How's business today?" he called in greeting.

The Russian African-American turned away from two locals he was talking to. Upon seeing the swath of black hair and the white feathery outlines of the coat, Simon broke into a grin. "Hello, Izaya. Business good. Sushi good, too. You here for sushi today?"

"Ah, yeah. I think I'll go get some takeout. Maybe a bit extra, too, since I just a great pay raise."

"That wonderful! You best watch your back. Be careful."

Izaya mentally jumped, though he was careful enough not to show any reaction outside. It didn't take a genius to realize that there was some story behind Simon, given his appearance and nationality, but he had a feeling there was something more, something that meant that Simon was no stranger to the underworld. While he was sure the other man didn't know anything about what he did for a job, the statement still put him on edge. "I'll be sure to let Shizu know that, next time I see him."

"Shizuo, hmm? He best not fight too. Fighting not good. He should come, replenish energy. Sushi good for that too."

"Yes, indeed it is, Simon," and with that he strode past the giant. Ten minutes later, he was out again with a box in hand.

"Thank you for coming!" Simon said with a hearty wave. Izaya returned it without turning around.

It was dark by the time he returned to the apartment. Collecting what the client from his last job wanted had taken time and effort and no small amount of meddling, and now that it was finished, he felt it his right to relax. The way back was taken slowly, with frequent stops leaning at the side of a random building and a long respite taken at the nearby park. He just stood, watched, and listened, letting the general hubbub so characteristic of urban human society fill his eyes and ears.

In many respects, he was saving his energy. It had been a while since he'd played around with any of his classmates, and, honestly, high school was a joke. He hardly attended the classes anymore; what was the point if he didn't care? It's not like he'd ever been planning on having a real job that required such an education or anything, and the only reason he'd need a job would be for the money and the contacts it acquired.

Money. Now that was an interesting concept, unlike anything he'd ever encountered before. It was something that seemed to be uniquely human, especially in the foresight needed for such an idea to even work. A person had to know the worth of something and measure it in hard, metal objects or printed cloth-paper that wouldn't rot or go bad so that they could be traded for something less permanent of same worth. It was a medium that didn't give immediate results.

Perhaps it was the lack of need for constant worrying about survivorship that allowed the creation of such a thing. No need to worry about caching food directly to save for harsher times.

Either way, it was something that seemed to be of great importance to a great many humans. People would go to such incredible lengths to obtain it or to keep it, like with love or other such emotions.

His musings were brought to an end as he arrived at the base of the building he'd been living in for the past eight years. As he entered the sliding doors, he noted the presence of the black motorcycle parked in the alleyway next to the apartments. It was in the shadow, and so almost completely invisible unless he looked specifically for it, especially because the vehicle seemed to absorb every ray of light shone onto it and not reflect a photon.

He opened the door to Shinra's apartment. "Hellooo dears, I'm hooome! And I brought fooood!" he yelled, with the sushi he'd brought held high.

There was no greeting from either of resident, though.

Slightly unnerved by the silence, Izaya set the boxes he'd gotten by the wall and shut the door quietly. He fingered the handle of his knife, just in case, as he crept in. There was no point in attempting to call for them again. The place wasn't large; if they hadn't heard him the first time, likely they couldn't this time either.

A rustle, down the hall. Swerving to his right, Izaya turned to face the noise…

…before he relaxed.

It was Shinra's work room, or, as Izaya preferred to call it, his "laboratory." It was where he saw patients and generally did his job. Izaya didn't like the thought of people coming and going within the apartment, but it was all Shinra really knew how to do that was vaguely profitable. (And even then, Izaya earned more money. Take that, education.)

He was about to turn and leave for his room, since he couldn't be seen outside of work by outsiders, when he was stopped by a voice.

"Celty says you can come in."

Celty? She didn't usually enter the clinic at all if she could help it. She had an unusual aversion to the place's general vicinity. Izaya didn't know what had happened, nor did he feel terribly inclined to ask, not when the only people who would know were an unknown life form, an underground doctor who habitually wears a gas mask, and Underground Doctor Jr. He'd probably find out some other way, and while his curiosity burned at the unanswerable question, he could be patient.

Despite knowing the only other possible reason for her to be in the room, he was still surprised to see that Celty was the one sitting on the operating table. Yellow helmet on as always, the rider was looking down, seemingly deep in thought as she rubbed a spot on her shoulder. The cat ears were angled downwards, only emphasizing the impression.

Shinra was off at another table, putting supplies away. He stood and wiped the sweat off his brows with an exaggerated motion. "Phew, that was quite a scare! Celty, my dear, please don't ever do that again. I'm going to die simultaneously from nausea, migraine, and an anxiety-induced heart attack."

[I didn't **intend** to come back with a bullet in my shoulder, and I certainly didn't intend for my body to heal around the bullet.] The emphases on the words were made through the extra gusto with which she typed on the keyboard.

"I know, I know, none of it is your fault. Celty could never be at fault."

"I wouldn't know about that," quipped Izaya. "She's not omniscient."

Shinra completely ignored him. "I knew that job was going to be dangerous. You should have turned that one down. We could ignore one or two clients; it's not like we're low on money!"

[It wasn't anywhere beyond my abilities, Shinra. I know my limits and what my body can do.]

"But you've forgotten so much, there's always the possibility…"

"Come on, Celty's been outside so much already. This isn't the first time she's run into any trouble, is it?" Izaya cut in again. Sometimes, he didn't understand the other teenager's mother-hen tendencies, especially with someone like Celty, who habitually socked him very painfully in the stomach. And while the rider's own response was somewhat troublesome in its own right, Izaya wanted to put a stop to any long drawn-out argument over her safety. "Come on, I brought some food back. Let's go and get it before it gets soggy."

"It's worrisome every time. Whenever she leaves the door, I feel my heart bursting out of my ribcage, yearning to be with her, and all I can do is hope for her safety."

"And she's **fine**. She said it herself, she heals fast."

"That's no excuse for her to get hurt in the first place!"

[You two, I'm fine, and I'm right here…] (But seeing as how neither was looking her way, they both ignored her.)

"You're being overprotective of her. She's not even human, she can handle herself."

"And I'm saying that's beside the point! It doesn't matter whether she can or can't – and she perfectly well can – she doesn't need to be in those situations in the first place!" After a second's glance, Shinra narrowed his eyes. "You're not in any way involved in this, are you?

His two cohabitants knew of his chosen career, not that they approved. Shinra thought he was just going to get the two of them (and especially Celty) into trouble, and Celty seemed to have a tighter moral compass than the two of them combined. While she herself was forced into working in the underground, she didn't very much approve of people who chose it by choice.

Over the recent years, she had been distancing herself from Izaya as well. He couldn't think of any conceivable reason for this, but if truth be told, he found himself slightly reluctant to deal with her. She had an air about her that could be interpreted as mysterious, but to the former crow just felt … otherworldly. Strange. And above all, inhuman. And this was all on top of the blatant hint from Shingen.

It was normal for non-humans to be extraordinary; it was much more interesting when humans were the ones accomplishing relatively extraordinary deeds (unless that human happened to be named Shizuo, in which case that person can just go and die in a rat-infested gutter).

In short, a combination of caution and disinterest worked to keep him subconsciously away from the Black Bike. Unless it came to their jobs.

And their jobs did intersect. Izaya sometimes needed favors: a courier to transport goods, a temporary bodyguard for a client, or maybe just a famous urban legend that scared most people witless. And when that happened, he called upon the closest resource at hand – Celty.

She often did exemplarily as well. He never skimped on pay when others worked with him, especially when they did a good job.

This happened to be one of those times.

"Where's the trust? Of course I've got nothing to do with this incident." Not directly at least. In fact, he'd specifically checked to see what the danger involved was, and there should have been none. "I was on the other side of town."

"And how would you know where-"

"Well, I **am** an informant, and Celty's not very inconspicuous. Give me at least that much credit."

"Then you could have helped her instead of running off creating even **more** trouble for us. Either way, you could've done **something**, and you're involved somehow. You're especially good at meddling in other's affairs. Why don't you meddle in something that would **help** someone for once?" Shinra's glasses were falling down his nose, but he completely ignored it. And he was being completely unreasonable.

Izaya didn't bother trying to figure out why. He didn't want to figure out why. He was starting to get on edge himself. He glared up at Shinra. "It's only when people are in times of trouble that they start to show their true character. It's Basic Knowledge 101."

"So you put her in danger knowingly."

"Shinra, stop deluding yourself. Or rather, stop thinking you've stopped deluding yourself. She's. Not. Human. End of story."

"And that's beside the point. I know what she is, who she is. She's Celty, and that's that."

He really hated arguments, and he really, really didn't know why he was getting himself caught in this one. "I already told you, it's not my fault she was attacked. Some stupid fools probably decided to make a name for themselves trying to take down the Legendary Black Bike. And even if I did try, I would have done it right."

"…Yes, well, that's about the only reason I'm not running you."

[Both of you. **Stop it.**] The PDA was shoved straight between their faces, monitor turned one way, and then the other. The subject of the quarrel herself was shaking. Izaya couldn't tell whether it was from anger or from the hilarity of the stupidity of the argument.

"But Celty…"

[**No**, Shinra.] Now that Izaya had finally come out with his suspicions on her non-human status, she seemed to have given up all pretenses, typing with finger-like shadows as well to speed the words along. [This is getting nowhere. You know better. Izaya gave me the job knowing full well how dangerous it was supposed to be, and I took the job knowing full well the risks of what could happen outside his knowledge.] Now she turned to Izaya. [And you. Stop egging him on. He gets agitated easily.]

Maybe he'd fallen off that metaphorical edge, or maybe he wanted to try free-falling off one, because he didn't stop himself from saying what he did next. Waving casually, he replied, "It's his fault for getting attached to a monster like you."

And a sharp pain exploded across his jaw.


	22. Reap What You Sow

Sorry about the false alert. I had trouble deciding whether to separate these two chapters or not.

The next few chapters won't be quite so long as the previous ones.

* * *

**Chapter 22**

The punch hit Izaya's jaw with a snap and he was thrown back against the floor with a thud.

He felt a small tickling sensation at the corner of his mouth.

He wiped it.

The back of his hand came away red.

He narrowed his eyes at his attacker.

"Izaya, I've put up with you all these years because of Celty. Solely because of Celty." Shinra's words were short, clipped. He was serious. "If you insult her like that again, I'm never going to forgive you. Don't even think about setting foot in here again except as a patient, and when that happens, remember that you will be under my scalpel."

Shinra's eyes were cold, colder than anything the other had ever seen before. And his words likewise sent a chill down Izaya's spine.

…even though he shouldn't be caring about pointless things like friendship and the like. He was independent. He'd always lived alone. The residence with Celty and Shinra was only temporary, a thing that was fated to end once he could stand on his own two legs anyways.

This shouldn't be bothering him at all.

And yet , when Shinra's frost-crusted words left his lips, Izaya shuddered. A small part of him panicked. His eyes naturally found themselves shifting to the ground.

Celty looked between the two of them, as though unsure of what to do. [Shinra, calm down. He didn't mean anything of it-]

"No, Celty. If we just let this go, then it'll just get out of hand later." The doctor put his hand on Celty's, covering the PDA. He stepped in front of her, towering over Izaya. "You were just a kid when we took you in. One would think you would feel more gratitude towards someone who's helped you so much. She'd always been on your side, even when we were just arguing for fun."

After a moment's silence, Izaya couldn't stand the one-way stare-down any more. With great exaggeration only Shinra usually used (but he wasn't using it now, was he?), Izaya threw his hands in the air. "Aaah, OK, OK, I get it! Jeez Shinra, you're too sensitive when it comes to her. Learn to take a little joke, won't you?"

"So it was a only joke to you?" Shinra's mood didn't seem to improve any.

"Maybe I should say a slip of the tongue? Those happen to everyone. Anyways, I've stayed here too long. I should get going."

Izaya lifted himself from the ground and all but ran to the door. He shuffled his shoes one with his back turned to the doctor. Neither person chased after him. He put his hand on the knob and called back, "Have fun with Celty! Now you two will have all the time and space to be lovey-dovey that you need!"

As he opened the door, Shinra's cold voice shot across the hall. "I meant what I said, Izaya."

Eyes floating over the package he'd left by the door, Izaya left the apartment, door closing behind him with a soft _click_ before giving his reply.

"I know you did, you bastard."

Mood bitter and sour, the former crow stalked down the hallway, away from his former residence.


	23. Another Reprieve

**Chapter 23**

Izaya sneezed. He burrowed himself deeper within his only source of warmth and comfort, his coat. Its comforting scent made him feel even warmer, but he still couldn't find it in himself to sleep.

It was December again. Back in his childhood (was it eight years ago already? Had only eight years passed?) he'd been lucky enough to miss the winter by a hair's breadth when Shinra – the name left a bitter taste in his mind – had picked him up. But there was no such luck this time. He was on his own.

But this was the way he'd always lived up until now. He would be fine. Even if humans were much more susceptible to the cold, they bundled themselves up better, and as a human himself now, he could even try to convince some people to spare food or some room space. He could talk. He had a little money. He would survive.

Damn it. Damn that bastard, damn it damn it **damn it**! He wasn't supposed to get attached to anyone – no, he **wasn't** attached to anyone. That was right. He would be fine on his own.

Somehow, though, the argument with himself fell flat when he was sitting, cuddled , in the corner of an abandoned warehouse, with only his coat and the clothes on his back as insulation. He could hear the wind howling outside. It was surely snowing. The temperature was cold enough, and before he'd left "that place" he'd flashed by the weather channel quickly on the television.

Really, Celty had been right. He hadn't meant it, the cause of all of this. It was a small joke, truly a slip of the tongue. He hadn't even thought anything of it when the word "monster" left his lips. A joke amongst kin, right? Oh right, they didn't know. Whoop-de-day.

In all honesty, he had only meant that she wasn't human, but he should have been more careful. He, of all people, should have known the power of words, especially with Shinra being anxiety-ridden and out of his mind as he was.

No, it was high time that he should have left. This was the perfect catalyst. What kind of man was he, a full-grown adult of eighteen, living and leeching off of two others? As a crow, he would have been far along into his senior years, the equivalent of a man curtained in white-speckled hair. Where was his pride?

Apparently wherever the hot days of summer had gone. On top of everything, he'd run with feathers afluff, showing his tail to the opponent like a coward, in a stupid verbal spat.

Izaya sighed. There was no use in pondering about the past. He would just eke out a living doing what he'd always done. Information brokering was profitable, but that was only if he didn't take into account basic living expenses. True, it was enjoyable, and it'd always felt the most rewarding watching the humans and preparing for a grand game of all time sometime in the future, but it was also risky.

He'd just have to live with those risks.

Everything was at an all-time low. The temperature, his mood, his life.

Shivering, Izaya rubbed his hands over his arms again. He closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, he'd get started with business.


	24. Reversion

Double warning for very slightly squicky writing; ie, there's swears. And violence.

On a random note... Be sure to send Borders a great goodbye! They're my favorite bookstore and it saddens me to see them go. I remember going there as a kid and just kipping out for several hours and reading whatever there was on the shelves (usually near the Animorphs section...)

Hope you enjoy?

* * *

**Chapter 24**

He was usually much better than this! So many jobs had gone off without a hitch. He'd been living on his own, at the same rundown warehouse that was really just a collecting stop for his most basic essentials. His attendance at school had been erratic, at best, and when he did attend, he and Shinra kept their distance. They ignored each other, eyes sliding completely over each other as thought the other didn't exist. Izaya was good at hiding his grudge, though, as his usual train didn't notice anything off, and he made sure to treat them just as courteously as before, especially that new Saki girl. Just because he moved didn't mean he was out of business. Though less important now, he needed to know **all** of Ikebukuro, and that meant the student population too.

In addition, because of his exemplary grades, he managed to graduate just fine. College would certainly be an interesting experience, and he would at least have a residence. But then he'd have to suffer classes and the general idiocy of the college population, and then there was the money issue.

Despite this, though, life was satisfactory. Good, even. Jobs were coming in even more than ever before, and he still had food.

And now, all of a sudden, everything, everything just came crashing down at the same time.

Fucking cold and sniffles. Double fucking sneeze!

His feet carried him fleeting over the pavement. A wall came before him, and he scaled it with barely any effort at all.

_Taptaptaptaptaptaptap_.

But he wasn't gaining any distance from the pursuers at all.

And just when he was going to turn back to see if he could catch a glimpse of the hunters, shock ran through his body as a fist smashed into his temple. He flipped, a handless cartwheel that probably would have earned 10s at the Olympics, before flopping onto the ground. Wind knocked out of him, he could only gasp for breath as footsteps approached from all sides.

Even with his mind a white haze, he could see their shoes from across the steam that plumed with every attempted breath. He could see the snow fluttering down through the open roof of the abandoned warehouse. He lifted his eyes, and he saw the blue cloths tied across their forehead, covering their hair.

Fool, you led them right back to your hideaway.

Idiot, they already knew where you lived. They were waiting for you here.

For the first time, Izaya knew hatred beyond what he felt for Shizuo. And fear.

They set upon him. Like wolves, would be the usual human idiom, but Izaya begged to differ. He'd seen seagulls squabbling over food. That was exactly what they were like.

Hah, he, a crow, was getting lynched by seagulls! The hilarity of it all.

"Hey look, the bastard's lost it! Pft, knew he was always a few marbles short."

"Look at him, he's practically pissing his pants!"

"Dude, the guy's laughing."

Oh, he was laughing. Yes, he was laughing indeed. Cracked? Crazy? Maybe, just a little. It was all oh so very funny, though! Why was he on the ground, getting beaten up? He was **Izaya**. Shit like them weren't supposed to come anywhere near arm's length of him. He was much too skilled for that.

Which was why it was all so very fucking hilarious.

The kicking stopped. Izaya peeked open his eye from behind his arm. They were talking. They weren't noticing him.

Perfect.

Hand in sleeve, blade traced a perfect arc before him.

He caught the shin of the bastard standing in front of him. With a cry of pain, the gang member kneeled, clutching his injured leg. Upon seeing the flickblade, he reached in to his back pocket.

But it was already too late.

A spray of arterial blood, and crimson splatter dotted the snow-lined concrete.

Screams.

Good, they **better** fear him.

He was up on his feet before they were halfway out of the room.

He was upon them before they reached the door.

The second fell with a yelp of surprise.

The third with tears in his eyes and cries for help on his lips.

The fourth really did piss his pants.

But there were so many more.

Blood, blood was everywhere. He panted from where he stood. He stared down at the knife in his hands. It clanged to the ground.

All the energy left his body. He collapsed in a heap. His coat was soaked, he absently noticed. He'd have to wring it out later.

It hurt. Everything was hurting now.

Some had gotten away.

He'd get them.

But right now, everything hurt.

Footsteps?

They were coming back?

He tried to stand, but fell to the ground again.

Shitdamnfuck, he needed to get **away**.

If only he wasn't a human.

If only he was what he really was.

If only he had wings.

And before he knew it, he was soaring away, shoulders screeching in jagged pain that threatened to tear his psych apart.

Away, away, higher and higher.

He absently noticed the others enter. Their cries of horror at his absence.

Not even a chuckle left his lips – beak? – as he concentrated on escaping.

He didn't get very far.

The earth rush forward to meet him.

He could not be found as a crow. After all, it wouldn't take much for a fox to come by and snap him up, would it? He couldn't die, not yet.

And with those thoughts, he closed his eyes and knew no more.


	25. Twin Typhoons

I suppose, if you could separate the story into different arcs, this would be the start of the third one.

Rumiko and Takashi are my own creations. To my knowledge, the parents don't have any names.

* * *

**Chapter 25**

"Mr. Crow is not awake."

"Mr. Crow should wake up soon."

His head hurt. His ears hurt. His shoulders hurt. His back hurt. His legs hurt. His arms hurt. His face…

Arms?

He blinked.

"Mr. Crow is awake, Kururi!"

"Mairu, Mr. Crow is awake!"

The voices came from above.

He tried to move, but stopped short as his muscles protested.

"Oh don't move, Mr. Crow! The bandages are still new."

So that was why he felt like he was being choked and all the feathers rubbed the wrong way.

"Mom, Mr. Crow is awake! Come and see!"

Footsteps. Izaya couldn't help but tense. Stupid, but after what had happened…

"Don't worry, Mr. Crow. It's only Mom. Mom's really nice! You'll just see."

When he opened his eyes again, Izaya finally saw who was talking.

He had thought it was odd that a single voice was talking back and forth to itself. The fact that it was twins cleared things up for his aching head immensely. The girls were completely identical, down to the length of their hair. They both wore innocent smiles as they stood by the table that he was apparently resting on. Izaya estimated them to be about five.

An older woman came into the room. "Mairu, I told you to stop calling the poor boy that! He's already injured. He doesn't need to be called names too!"

No, miss, that's not quite the problem here. It's bad for his heart too, hearing that nickname.

"But Moooom…"

"No is no, Mairu."

"Yes, Mom." Cue pout of the century.

"Mai got yelled at! Mai got yelled at!"

The mother was not detered. "Don't think I didn't hear you do the same, Kururi."

Cue identical pout.

Izaya felt his head hurting.

"Now, dear," said the woman as she turned to him on the bed. "What's your name? Do you feel all right? My daughters found you collapsed and in horrible shape just outside the house."

He nodded. Everything seemed to be intact, at least.

She smiled. "That's wonderful. I brought a fresh change of bandages."

"Thank you," he croaked. Damn was his throat dry. He smacked his lips and tried again.

"Don't mention it, dear," the mother said as she started to unwind the wrappings. "Truthfully, we'd wanted to take you to the hospital, but there was an accident at the intersection. We decided it would be safest if we took you inside. Oh, don't worry, I have basic medicine knowledge. These two are always getting into trouble on their own. I won't accidentally make things worse."

Izaya smiled a little at the joke. He turned to the twins, who were watching him curiously. "These are?"

"My daughters. Kururi, Mairu, introduce yourselves."

"But Mom, you already did!"

"When?"

"Just now."

"**Mairu**." The mother did the hands-on-hips thing that Izaya had only seen on television before.

Seeming to want to show off, one of the girls (the one not getting yelled at) pointed at herself. "I'm Kururi. I'm the older sister."

"No you're not! Mairu is the older one!" the other twin retorted, referring to herself in the third person.

"Kururi is!"

"Mairu!"

"Kururi!"

The headache wasn't going away anytime soon.

"Both of you!" With that, the sisters stopped. "We still haven't heard your name."

Izaya paused here. It … shouldn't be any problem giving her his first name. His last, though… "The name's Izaya."

The last didn't need to be stated. He wasn't going back there anymore.

The mother seemed to understand and take pity on him – they usually did, since he was technically just a child in their eyes – because she didn't ask any further. She just went on. "My name's Orihara Rumiko. It would be all right with us if you stay here until the intersection clears up-"

Izaya shook his head furiously, worsening his headache in the meantime. The last thing he needed were hospital machines plugged into him. "No, it's all right. I'll leave tonight. I've caused enough trouble for you." He tried to present the best image of politeness he could with a throbbing side and everything else. Though, they probably thought he was some kind of gang member or something.

"No, please do stay. You're too injured to go anywhere at the moment." Except he seemed to have landed himself in a family that had zero self-preservation instinct.

He wanted to argue some more, and opened his mouth to do so, but his words transformed immediately into a huge yawn.

"Wow, Mr. Crow's mouth is so big…"

"I can do bigger!" and so one of the girls tried to open her mouth as wide as she could. Izaya thought she looked like she was about to pop her jaw.

A hand rested on her head. "Now, you two, his name's Izaya, so you should call him that. And both of you should stop bothering the sick. Come on." Rumiko led them out of the room by their shoulders.

"Bye Izaya!"

"Bye Yazai!"

Izaya gladly welcomed the darkness this time, if only to escape from the pounding in his head.


	26. It Takes Four to Make One Braindead

I take that back. **This** chapter was the most awkward to write, simply because I can't get a nice balance between the OCs (that are Izaya's parents) and Izaya right. And because the dialogue feels weird to me. Oh well.

It's you guys that decide whether it's good or not XD

* * *

**Chapter 26**

"Izayaaa, Mairu's teasing meee!"

"Don't listen to her, Izaya! She's just making it all up!"

_Pitter patter pitter patter_ came the little footsteps as they came onto the balcony. Izaya prayed they wouldn't find him. He was enjoying his sunbathing.

But unfortunately, only a few days with the anklebiters were enough for them to learn of his hiding place. A head poked over the ledge. "Found you!"

Izaya peeked one eye open and sighed. "How are you even doing that?" he mumbled as he slowly sat up and stretched. He scuffled over to the edge of the roof and looked down. One of the twins (he couldn't tell which) was standing on the other's shoulders … who was standing on the railing of the balcony. "It's not my fault if you fall."

"Then you shouldn't be up here in the first place!"

"How are we gonna be with you if you keep hiding?"

That was the entire point of being in a hard-to-find place. Izaya turned back around and flopped back down, completely ignoring the girls. It was a bit cold out, but at least there was no snow. The sun felt nice. He was almost about to drift back to sleep when a fist bashed against his nose.

"Don't close your eyes, stupid Iza. We wanna play!" The girl on top was supporting herself by her hands and seemed to be trying to climb up. Suddenly, though, she disappeared from the ledge with a thud. Mildly worried that she'd fallen (because then he'd have to leave before he was completely ready), he scooted over to see. There they were, in a pile of limbs on the balcony.

"It's not fair, you can't go up there yourself."

"We already played rock-papers, and I won! It's my turn."

Izaya sighed and gave in. "All right, you two. Get out of the way."

The twins cheered and half-scooted half-slid off the balcony. Izaya swung into the room using the roof edge as a pivot.

It was a weird situation he'd found himself in. His wounds had mostly healed after the first day, despite the severity of them, causing the Oriharas to declare him some sort of miracle. He had been about to leave when Rumiko, with some sort of "mother instinct," as she'd put it, had asked about his family. …And had completely blown off his perfectly legitimate answers as lies with no evidence whatsoever. Aside from a bit of pushiness, the two adults of the household seemed to be completely normal individuals. Which was why he couldn't see why they'd wanted to keep him at the house longer than necessary.

In the end, he'd given in simply so they – Rumiko and her husband Takashi who had returned later that night – would stop nagging him while he was trying to get some restful shuteye.

It was also why he couldn't see how the hell those two girls had grown up to be such horrible menaces.

Well, granted, they seemed to have inherited their parents' tenacity in getting what they want.

Part of his discomfort with them was the fact that he couldn't tell them apart for the life of him. They were identical down to the split in their hair. Usually he was good with faces, but these two were on a whole other level. It was like they took special care to look the same. Unfortunately, they seemed to have taken a liking to him, meaning that they were always near him, tittering away.

The moment his feet touched the ground, he was waylaid onto the floor by two semi-light bodies. He hit the floor with a slight "Oomph."

They also had a bad habit of surprising him even though he was a being with better senses than most humans.

Human. It had been eight long years since he'd last been anything but, and then **that** had occurred. He hadn't thought about "the incident" since – not because it was traumatizing or anything of that sort. Really, he'd already had a nice little plan to handle the culprits. He had to give his gratitude for the beating.

No, that wasn't what he didn't want to think about.

The problem was with how he had escaped. How he had felt he was soaring, when it was simply not possible.

_But it shouldn't have been possible the first time, should it?_

It defied everything, the very laws of the universe. It didn't make sense.

And so, he simply shoved the topic out of his mind until he had lots and lots of free time, because he definitely had more important things to be worrying about.

Like getting the Oriharas to let him go. He was already mostly healed, capable of walking around. Despite this, he was still trapped in the house, no matter what his protests were otherwise. He'd never met such a large group of people that were capable of telling his truth from half-truths from lies so easily – except two people that he'd rather not think about at the moment. As far as personalities were concerned, he supposed the parents were all right (even if they were the cause of this whole caged dilemma). They really were "ordinary," simply because that was the best word to describe them.

But the two girls were driving him insane.

"Let go of me."

"No!"

"You have to get the answer right!"

"You're Kururi. And you're Mairu. End of story. Now let **go**." He wiggled a bit, but one was hanging off his shoulders and the other off his waist, and they weren't likely to let go of their clamp soon.

"Wroooong."

"You suck. You've already tried ten times already. Technically, since you have a 50% chance of getting the question right, you should've gotten it at least five times."

"But you haven't, so either you have horrible luck, or you just suck."

"We're guessing it's the second."

"Or," Izaya cut in, "you could be cheating and switching off every time I say anything."

"But if we did, and you really did know which one of us is which, then you would've noticed."

"But you didn't, so it's all your fault in the end."

Both girls stuck their tongues out at him.

There was nothing he could say to such unreasonable logic.

"Besides, we can't expect a crow to figure it out anyways."

"Yeah, Mr. Crow."

"Didn't your mom tell you to stop calling me that?"

"But she's not here."

"That's a stupid nickname," said Izaya. He desperately wanted them to change it, since it struck a little too close to home. "At least come up with something that has some basis in reality."

"But it does!"

"You're a liar. Bluffer." She mouthed the word as though it were her first time using it.

Izaya raised his eyebrow.

"Because we saw you!"

He didn't respond immediately. They **saw**? After waiting for them to continue, he saw that they were waiting for an answer. He felt obligated to give them a mundane "Saw what?"

They rolled their eyes. "Duh, we saw you when you fell."

"Can you stay with us forever? Nobody else in our class has a crow for a big brother."

"You were a big, fat crow too. Maybe you were too heavy to fly. Anyways, you fell. Then you were on the ground twitching and we poked you with sticks."

"But then you turned into a person, which kind of surprised us and we screamed."

"Sorry about that."

Somehow Izaya wasn't completely surprised that they had known. Just from the short period he'd known them, he'd learned that he shouldn't try to predict anything about them. Or maybe he was too far into shock to really react. Besides, he wasn't thinking about **that** forbidden topic. He forcibly shoved any thoughts about it from his mind. He decided that lying wouldn't get them anywhere. "And you're not going to apologize for everything else?"

"Like what?"

He sputtered. "I'm not fat, nor was I too heavy to fly! Hello, injuries!" He gestured at the bandages.

"But you're all better already, so you can't have been hurt too badly."

Did they miss the bruises, blood, and black eye?

"Maybe you're a transformer."

"The term's 'shape-shifter,'" corrected the other sister.

"Oh, right, shape-shifter. Like in those stories."

"'Those stories?'" repeated Izaya, not quite sure what they were referring to. Sure, there were many books that dealt with the subject, but he hardly ever found it necessary to read novels, and so had never touched them.

"Oh you know, like the ones with … um…"

"Zeus. And Juno. And Apollo."

"And Odin and Thor."

"And Mercury and Mars."

"And Loki!"

"Hm, come to think of it, Loki's kinda like you."

"Yeah, he's mean too."

"And he likes to change shape too."

Izaya had had enough. He was completely lost and decided to tell them so. He was starting to really sympathize with Dotachin. Really, these two were worse than Erika and Walker, much worse, if only because they looked and talked **exactly alike**.

"Oh, don't worry, it's just mythology. We're doing it for a class in school."

"We liked Norse the best. Don't you think Shizuo's like Thor?"

One of the sisters nodded. "Yeah, he's all strong. Unlike someone here."

"OK, enough is enough. Both of you, get off me. If you're going to argue, then do it on the ground, like good girls. Or I'm going to fling you against a wall."

"But you can't. You're not Shizuo."

"Thank god for that," Izaya grumbled.

"And you haven't guessed right yet!"

Again? The conversation had come completely full-circle. Time to try another angle. "If you want others to be able to tell you two apart so badly, then you shouldn't even be trying to look the same."

"But it's not fun otherwise!"

"And we like to have fun."

"We like it more than anything!"

"Well, other than each other, of course."

Aha.

"Well, if you like each other so much, then it's all the more reason to look different."

Both girls let go and tilted their heads in confusion.

A plan was already forming in Izaya's head. It was his favorite kind of plan, one that would get them out of his sights yet make things interesting for him. This, after all, was his first time interacting with twins. "You know the saying 'opposites attract,' right?"

A simultaneous nod.

"That's because, with two people, one person makes up for what the other doesn't have. Only when they're together are they one complete person, and what better way to show that you love each other than to be one?" Of course, not in quite **that** fashion, but he supposed that human children didn't learn that until later.

The twins made thoughtful noises and looked at each other. Izaya could practically see the cogs turning in their little brains. He smelled victory.

Suddenly, they stood (at the same time, of course), and with a simple, abrupt "Be right back!" they left the room behind.

Izaya gave a sigh of relief. That was one problem solved. He stretched to relieve his sore muscles. Glancing over at the clock on the microwave, he noted that there was still a little time before Shiki's appointment. Despite his injuries, he still had to do his job. It just wouldn't do to worry the poor old man's heart.

He shuffled on his shoes, shrugged on his coat, and limped towards the door. Before he could leave, though, it flung open on its own accord and he was assaulted by a full-body hug. Caught between shoving the offender off and stiffening uncomfortably, he saw that it was Rumiko.

"Uhm … hello?"

The woman straightened and wiped her tears. "Oh, dear, I'm so happy!" She had that infuriating habit of calling him that.

"…About?"

"Can you believe it? I've always wanted more children! And a son!"

"Huh?" Izaya wasn't following the conversation. That seemed to be a pattern today, and he didn't very much like it. Really, when these four were concerned, he invariably turned into a brain-dead zombie. It wasn't a state that he wanted to stay in, at all. It just made him more like Shizuo than he'd like.

Luckily, Takashi, the father, came to the rescue. He slipped quietly in the apartment and shut the door. "Honey, you're confusing the poor kid. Slow down, deep breaths."

"You're right," Rumiko said, and she did as instructed, several times. Once her hyperventilation had stopped, she looked at him again. He fought not to flinch. "You can stay with us from now on!"

"…Excuse me?"

Never mind. The parents were just as whacked as the children.

"Well, since you don't have a family" — And how did they figure that? – "we discussed the problem with each other and asked about it and realized that it would be best for everyone if you stayed with us from now on." The father was far blunter than the mother. At least he wasn't as excitable.

"You can even use our last name! Isn't that wonderful? And I've always wanted a son with an amazing name. I couldn't have come up with a better name myself…" She continued along this vein, but the teenager tuned her out.

Izaya didn't ask whether they looked him up, though he wanted to. It was true that he was listed in the registers as a distant cousin of Shinra's whose records were lost due to a mysterious family accident (and the school had believed him), so with a certain biased stretch of the imagination, one could surmise that he had no family.

But there was also the possibility that they had seen, like Mairu and Kururi had. He hated being unconscious. Being unconscious meant not knowing your surroundings, something Izaya had always been very keen on controlling to the utmost, even before he was a bipedal primate.

He didn't want to ask. If he did, and they hadn't seen, then that would just make things all the more worse. And so he skipped past the point. Swept it under the rug, so to speak. He trusted them to never mention the word "crow" either.

Besides, this solved one of his problems.

"Orihara Izaya. I like the sound of it."

It almost sounded to him like he was signing his life away.

Oh well. It didn't really matter whose family he was a part of. It was just a matter of swapping last names.

All he had to do was stay as far away from the household at all times, for his own sanity's sake.


	27. Prelude to the War

We're now definitely nearing the end of Watcher. I have a feeling I know what you guys'd vote anyways, but there's a poll on my profile for a new project to be posted next. Granted, this doesn't mean that I'll **finish** it next (remember the Great Hiatus, anyone?) but I'll at least keep the idea in mind.

* * *

**Chapter 27**

After the short agreement, some papers signed, and all was said and done, Izaya finally left the apartment. It was amusing that it was so simple for him to change his identity. Granted, he had "extenuating circumstances" and it was a one-time trick, but still.

It was also amusing that the first thing his new "parents" did was let him go out the door for his job, still with a limp.

There was not a person in sight down the three floors, nor did anyone see him leave the small street in front of the apartment building. Luckily, he managed to get to his destination without so much as a hitch, despite his slow _step shuffle step_ pace. It seemed like something was finally working in his favor. The car was parked in the shadows as usual, and he knocked on the shaded window nearest him. The door opened, and he slid in.

Once inside, he gave a sigh of relief at the feeling of being off his feet. This didn't escape Shiki. The Awakusu-kai member critically glanced over Izaya. Not willing to have the other comment on his appearance, Izaya broke the ice with a sly grin. "I'm surprised you're still here. Am I that important?"

"You've been beaten."

Izaya threw his hands in the air. "Really, I'm sure there must be someone in the world who has manners! When these things happen, you don't mention them. I thought that was common courtesy?"

The older man "hmph"ed. "Apologies. You should watch your back more carefully, though, so that it won't happen again." He didn't sound very apologetic, though his tone was polite.

It was as good as Izaya was going to get, so he just shrugged and let bygones be bygones. "So, what's the great corporation want with Mr. Lowly Informant here?"

"Oh, it's nothing much. Small change. Unfortunately, that also means the pay will be a little less. I was afraid that you would reject the job. It would be a shame since it's perfect for you, but with your injuries, it's something right at your current level."

The crow wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, or just as a statement of a fact. He decided to think of it as the latter. "How gracious of you, to take everything into account. So, the job?"

"There's been some trouble rising that could cause potential future problems. They call themselves the Color Gangs, or more specifically, the 'Blue Squares.' Have you heard of them?"

Izaya was careful to keep his face neutral. He didn't really care if it was obvious it was fake. He just didn't want them to see the ugly sneer that was working onto his lips, nor to let them hear the growl that was curdling in his throat.

"I take it you have."

"I'll take the job. We'll talk about the pay later."

He left the car with a slam.

It was the perfect opportunity. The plan had already been conceived. Now all he needed was the information on them. They wanted it too. Truly, perfect.

But they probably didn't want to act. That meant that they wouldn't interfere with Izaya's own plans.

It wasn't quite the "big game" he had in mind, that he was conserving energy for, but it was time to test his skills.

The Blue Squares wouldn't know what hit them.


	28. True Calling

Not too comfortable with this chapter. I admittedly had to do a bit of research to make sure I got most of the facts right, since it'd been a while since I'd last read Vol. 3. If anyone's a Durarara guru and spots a difference, please let me know!

That being said, this is the last real chapter of "Watcher." I can't believe I just wrote the entire fic in about two weeks. It's really been a ... hectic storm, of sorts. I'm sure I flooded a few people's inboxes with alerts.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! There's one more, an "epilogue" of sorts, after this.

Thank you for reading this far, and thank you all for the reviews!

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**Chapter 28**

It was amazing how, like dominoes, events just unfolded one after another. Each piece was a person, an event, or a circumstance. The placement of the piece was the person's personality or the information that they knew. One could predict the general direction of the flow of dominoes, but there was always that minor uncertainty that stemmed from human unpredictability – desires, emotions, and other unknown factors.

The fight unfolded beneath him. He watched from the top of a nearby building to see the blue clash with yellow, but he wasn't particularly interested in the general outcome. He was just here to see that everyone was preoccupied. No, the action was elsewhere.

It was time to check up on them. He turned from the crowd below, knowing that he was completely unseen. No one bothered to look up when there are fists or pipes rushing towards your head, intent on braining you. And even if he did, he did so love his dark coat. It provided perfect camouflage for the moonless night.

In a move that would most definitely be construed as suicidal, Izaya ran towards the edge of the building…

…

…and jumped.

It was just as good that no one could see him. He didn't want any reports of a "mysteriously vanishing body of a suicidal jumper" floating around his information network. That would just be in bad taste.

As always, the transformation was seamless, and instantaneous. One moment, he was human, with arms, and the next he was crow, with wings. As far as Mairu and Kururi told him, it was just … a blink. Sudden. No transitions or anything. And he knew he could trust them on this matter, at least, since they were absolutely **fascinated** with his ability and wanted him to "practice," which involved them tying him up and shoving him off their balcony or rooftop. At night, of course. They had apparently been hoping for some grotesque half-bird thing, but luckily, that didn't come to pass.

His new "sisters" bothered him on more levels than he'd thought. It wasn't that they were slightly psychopathic (and wasn't this kettle calling the pot black?) or that he could now tell them apart (which was a blessing, by the way). It was the extent to which they'd taken his suggestion. On one hand, it amused him that they would go so far – another case to his mental tally on why he liked humans – in just one day. Mairu decided she would be loquacious and bratty, balancing it out with old-fashioned bookworm clothing, while Kururi would be quiet and curt, and donning an energetic T-shirt and shorts combination (or gym clothes, if weather permitted). He had no problem with that. That made telling them apart easy.

On the other, they were each kind of extreme in their own way, and now Izaya was sandwiched in the middle. Despite the complete and bewildering change that overtook them, they both still clung to "big bro" with a tenacity only rivaled by their parent's newfound love for their daughters (it had been a spur-of-the-moment suggestion, but maybe that old saying, "Opposites attract," was in fact true, considering how "Normal" was so magnetically drawn to "Abnormal"). Except their affection now found new ways of expressing themselves. Since Mairu was the aggressive one, she decided to take an appropriately aggressive approach: i.e., kicking Izaya in the head. Kururi was thankfully more quiet, only nodding once whenever she saw him, but she would instead take to following him around like a damn chick.

But now was not the time to be thinking about family or such things, however odd they were. He would deal with them in time.

By air, travel was fast, and in only five minutes, he was perched on a railing at the edge of a parking garage across the city, near a certain van. Its utter normalcy betrayed what he knew what or who was inside.

It was lucky that Izaya had a follower so dedicated as Saki. It had actually been fairly hard to pinpoint the leader of the Yellow Scarves by conventional means, since the members were unusually tight-lipped about it. They only referred to him as "The General" or some other such nickname. Half the people didn't even seem to know what he looked like, other than that he was a great fighter despite his young age.

Conventional means, however, was not how Izaya did things. Hardly anyone noticed an extra pair of eyes peeking from the shadows above.

Kida Masaomi. He came from a fairly ordinary family, and had only moved into the vicinity a few years ago. Judging from that, it was pretty impressive to have created such a powerful group in Ikebukuro in such a short period of time, though from what he'd heard, it wasn't completely voluntary.

He'd also heard that the kid liked to think himself a player and "smooth with the ladies." And so, Saki, pretty and fragile as a flower, was the perfect bait.

It wasn't like he had anything against the Yellow Scarves. They just happened to be in the right place at the right time. It helped that they were morally upright, as far as gangs went, which made them all the more predictable.

While he preferred pieces of the more unpredictable variety usually, this was one case where such a quality would easily backfire. Things were hard to control perfectly otherwise.

He liked Masaomi. The boy was honest to his emotions. He was definitely fun and oh so easy to tease.

But in this case, he knew the boy couldn't be counted on to come all the way. Both of them, and Saki herself, were just lucky that a wild card was so close at hand.

It wasn't on purpose, but he liked it when things just fell in place, like when Dotachin and his van came forward where "the General" failed. The beauty of manipulation is, when done right, things happen the way you want it without you actually planning it. Everything just … work themselves out. While he wasn't particularly worried about Saki's death, it was nice that his former classmate rushed there – a dark white knight.

From what he'd remembered of the man's personality, there was no way he would have stood by and just let it happen, once he'd caught wind of it.

The flames blazed into Izaya's eyes. Walker looked viciously in his element as he splashed oil into the car. When the cocktail burst open, the crow couldn't help but caw in delight, flapping his wings vigorously as Horada, the bastard, rolled on the ground in agony. The noise was drawn out by the roar of the fire and then the hiss of the steam from the sprinklers.

The culprit behind his attack was no big secret. It was even easier when they were bragging about having taken down the Black Bike and the informant in a week. Izaya was just lucky that the organization was very loose, with little communication between members. A group at its worst, but that worked in favor for him. Few recognized his face from the attack that was so long ago, so he played mediator between the two groups with little fear, and whenever he sensed recognition on the Blue Square's part, he would keep track of that person's face until that person was in a nice, dark alley.

The only two left were Izumii and Horada. He didn't particularly care for the organization itself, or else the former's little brother, the true mastermind, would have been in his sights. Instead, he was more set on a personal vendetta. After all, the fewer people involved, the better.

The tyke could be dealt with later, if he proved to be a nuisance.

Dotachin's van drove off, leaving several people alight on the ground. Izaya flapped down and landed just out of sight. Human, he approached the boss of the gang, knife flicked out.

The indoors rain smothered all the red. Soon, nothing remained but some burnt skin and a sharp, potent stench that stung the nostrils.

"Hello, Horada. Did you enjoy my surprise for you?" Izaya tapped the side of his blade against the trash's face. The man didn't respond, but produced this strange whining groaning whimper as he curled tighter within himself. The now-human crow did so again, and the gangster managed to raise his eyes, only to give a muffled sort of scream that was quickly cut off by a groan of pain. "I'm sorry, do you not remember me? Oh that's right, you were probably riding too high in the clouds to notice anything that was going around you at the time. A coyote feeling proud that he caught a pet rabbit, and then playing with it before snapping its neck? Don't you think I'm cute, just like a rabbit? I think so. Cute and harmless. I never hurt anyone when I can help it. After all, I didn't lay a finger on you. The blood just gets soo messy, after all. I wouldn't like to get its stickiness all over me if I could help it.

"Let me refresh your memory. Once, long long ago, there was a warehouse, and in that warehouse, there lived a boy, all alone. Get the drift?"

He paused. Horada was glaring up at him, and while he still couldn't form any words well, his emotions were told very clearly by the set of his glare. "Bastard, you're that… You're the one that…"

"Haha, don't worry! Your friends are in a much better place than you, especially since they don't have to follow your lead anymore. Besides, those situations were proper **self-defense**." Granted, he had goaded them and goaded them until they made the first strike. He doubted they could use their hands any more. At least they still had their lives.

One thing he had said was true. Killing left a bitter taste in his mouth when it wasn't necessary.

Hurting someone didn't.

After all, it was necessary to show who was better than whom.

"And, really? In this case, I don't think I could help myself. Maybe that saying that knives had souls really is true, because it feels like mine is thirsting. What do you think?"

Ah yes, the rage gradually drained away to horror before his eyes. What a witless worm. This was the person who had completely turned his life upside-down? What an ugly truth.

Izaya snorted. "I personally think the filth in your blood would just corrode the blade of this beauty, but, well, I'm not someone who can say no." He brought the knife down.

It cut into Horada's cheek. The slice wasn't too deep, but it drew plenty of blood. Enough to scare. And sure enough, upon seeing the knife come away red, Horada immediately sat up and started screaming. He shuffled away from Izaya until he slammed his back into the still-smoky van.

"Uh-uh, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Can't have little bits of flesh spread across the parking garage, can we? I happen to like this place." Izaya grabbed Horada by the collar and threw him forward. He put a foot on his back and pushed. He could feel the breath leave Horada's lungs as he increased the pressure. "Now, see here. I don't really like killing. Killing is messy and I try to avoid it as much as possible. Still, I may make an exception, so take this as a nice, clear warning."

He stepped off and knelt in front of the ringleader of this whole farce again. "Don't mention this to anyone. Don't let me see your face again. Every time you do, it will be a hand, just like your friends. You won't die, but I don't think you can do anything with destroyed nerves. After that, your feet. How would you like a wheelchair? Oh, maybe you can share it with that girl you just beat back there? I'm sure her dear boyfriend would love to see you in the hospital."

He stood and turned away. "Don't worry about your friend, Izumii. I'll take good care of him too." He had other punishments in mind for the boss of Blue Squares, though. He hummed thoughtfully, clicking his knife open and close. He glanced back. Taking pleasure in the flinch, Izaya waved cheerfully. "I'll tell him you said hi! Buh-bye!"

And with that, he skipped away.

Outside the garage, though, he slowed down his walk. The adrenaline rush left him. The whole affair didn't make him feel any better, although this was one business taken care of. Life would continue as normal.

Normal? But this was normal. Gathering information, feeding it to others. Mediating jobs and sometimes acting as the mediator for conflicts.

But then, what was the purpose of everything that had happened?

Yes, it was practice. Practice for the big game. The game of all games, where different pieces came together from all around and met on a grand chessboard in a final showdown.

That was what Izaya had been conserving his energy for, before he got sidetracked. Then he just wasted all of his efforts.

No, not a sidetrack. Not a waste. It was a rehearsal. He had to improve himself, after all.

Yes, this was preparation. He didn't know what the game would be, nor where it would lead, but he had to get himself ready.

In fact, what better way to do things than to build off what had happened here? Then the whole thing wouldn't be an utter waste of time.

It was better to look on the optimistic side of things. If something wasn't going your way, then turn the situation around so that it was. And if that didn't work, then shift your frame of thinking.

This was just one step in a larger cyclone of events.

And to be at the eye was what he had been born to do.

It was what he had wished so hard for, ten years ago, on that night.

It was because he had wished so hard to be a human, to be among them and to watch them more, he was here now, as Orihara Izaya.

And who knew it was all so **fun**!

He laughed, loud and hard, into the drizzling skies. Water dribbled into his mouth as the adrenaline surged back into his veins. Around him, all was silent but for his _splish splash_ steps as he resumed his hop-skip pace and twirled his way back home.


	29. The Beginning

This is the epilogue, and the last chapter of Watcher.

Let's get the nitpicky stuff out of the way first. I figure most people will read either the first or last chapter, so I'm sticking a disclaimer here. Any characters you see here, or events that sound very familiar probably are and do not belong to me. About the only things that do is the fic!fact that Izaya is a crow (crowzaya!) and the Orihara parents (Takashi and Rumiko) and a random OC somewhere in the beginning of the fic.

With that done, here's the fun stuff. As I stated in the previous chapter, there's a poll on my profile about a suggested project. Well, it's more like, "What do you want me to work on more?" because a Watcher-related story is already in the works. ...Maybe calling it a "story" is pushing it, as it's a collection of shorts. The shorts can come from any period of Izaya's life (crow, kid, student, adult) mentioned here, as well as anything after. In other words, if I have any ideas for a sequel, they'll be there too.

That being said, I'm short on ideas, so please, do send in suggestions! Anything I get, I'll consider and see if I can pull it off.

(As for WHEN this will be posted ... um... No idea! =D)

Said this last time too, but really, truly, thank you for reading this fic to the end! It's readers like you that make writing fun =)

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**Chapter 29**

Izaya moved the mouse across the webpage. Even after all this time, he still found the human invention of the computer to be a most fascinating thing, not that he would tell anyone. The machine was the first thing to decorate his new apartment in Shinjuku. While he had been loath to leave his hometown of Ikebukuro … really, they were only a train's ride apart. He never really wanted to move far, but certain circumstances had made him consider that, yes, it was far safer to observe a city living outside of it rather than living in it.

Because it really was Ikebukuro itself that was unusual. The humans elsewhere paled in comparison. For some reason, perhaps because of the presence of so many non-human creatures in one area, the strange people all seemed to be attracted to the one city. It made things all the more interesting and fun.

The decision had not been made lightly. He'd had to consider certain pros – like the constant company of Kida or his old contacts or just the sheer thrill of living in his favorite city – and certain cons – like living in the vicinity of the Oriharas and being within throwing distance of Shizuo – very carefully.

Shizuo. Now there was a threat, if one existed. He'd actually gotten better and better as time went on. Apparently he'd taught himself parkour just to keep up with Izaya's own nimble feet, so now he was a stupid, **fast** hulk that had the added advantage of trashcans, street signs, and park benches. And vending machines. Can't forget the vending machines.

The lump had also made great friends with the Black Bike and her doting white-coated lovebird, and they welcomed the oaf's company. It wasn't like the oaf benefitted them any, but they allowed him to stay, sometimes even for more than a night. He doubted that he would've gotten the same treatment, even though he's the one who'd helped Celty provide for the household.

Ever since the night of her shooting incident and his runaway from "home," she seemed to be convinced that he had something to do with it, despite his protests on the contrary that day. (Whether he actually did or didn't was a moot point, it was the principle of the matter.) He still gave her jobs, but she was much more wary of them, and she always seemed to doubt him. Really, was he that untrustworthy?

She needn't have worried. He had no interest in a monster like her, despite her apparent … humanity.

Which was more than he could say about Shizuo, who seemed less human and more a destructive killing machine despite actually **being** a human.

Funny how Ikebukuro worked, wasn't it?

Shinra, on the other hand, he treated just as he did before. The doctor himself didn't seem to think much of it; he replied in turn. Things were just the same as before, but gone were the dinners together with the three of them.

By all respects, Izaya considered himself a human. He wasn't fool enough to disregard his attachment to human company (although that may've just been purely crow instinct), and he knew that it was best to leave a wide berth in his activities around a certain former cohabitant and classmate. Dotachin and his company were a bit better, since he could keep them at a distance by teasing them some, or perhaps by acting a bit more maniac than usual, but Shinra always had a way of spotting what was fake or not when it came to him. There were too many emotions there, and he himself was liable to fall prey to what he liked to play with in other humans.

No, he liked having a clear head. If that meant doing what Shinra had told him to do – act as strangers – then so be it. It wasn't like he needed much doctoring anyways, giving his accelerated healing.

Sometimes, the crow wondered if he was even that – a crow. Just a bird. Some aspects were just too strange, like his ability to transform simply by wishing it, or his healing abilities, or even his so-called parkour skills (as they called it on the street). It was nice to know that people just thought him an extraordinary human, like Shizuo (sic) or Simon – prevented unwanted attention – but it was kind of galling that he didn't know what was going on with his own body.

Erika and Walker probably had their own theory, but he was loath to ask them. He was sure he wouldn't understand a word of their explanation anyways. He hadn't had any contact with them since the end of the Color Gang wars, though he still saw them on the streets occasionally. It seemed they had roped themselves a chauffeur of sorts.

With Mairu's and Kururi's words in mind, he had dabbled in mythology a bit. His independent research had turned up fruitless, as he had predicted it would, but he found the subject mildly interesting. With nothing to do all day except surf the web when he wasn't staking a person out, he made it a hobby to read a page or two every day.

(He especially liked the Norse Mythology. The idea of a fatalistic society appealed to him – after all, most people were uncomfortable around death. However, these people embraced it, accepted it as fact, and continued to live with it. Even aspired for it, sometimes. It was a fact that Izaya himself had always taken as real – that death was always looming around the corner – so he found the philosophy appealing.)

Shingen may have known something, but the older man's interest in him had quickly disintegrated the moment he had realized he was "only" a crow. The weirdo was out of the country anyways, with no means of reaching him. It wasn't worth the effort to search and dig one out either.

The only thing he could do was to take advantage of his abilities, whatever they were, as much as possible, which he did. Gladly. And liberally, especially when he was on the job.

Everyone who had something to hard guarded their information and secrets jealously, with copious numbers of bodyguards and guns. Lucky for him, they were all expecting human spies.

No one thought to look for an innocuous bird.

He skimmed down the site that he was on. Nothing new on the news, not that the reporters ever wrote any of the real facts of anything that happened. There was the usual gossip, and some articles on current events that reported everything except what was important.

Then he opened a new window. This time, he took a paper out from his pocket and typed the address in. A black page popped onto the screen with the exception of two things.

One was a place to enter a password. This small phrase was copied down onto the paper as well.

The other was a circular logo. Splashed across the center of it was only one word.

Slowly, letter by letter, Izaya typed in the password that would grant him access to the greatest Color Gang of all.

The Colorless Gang, Dollars.


	30. Sequel Alert

I've posted the sequel-type thing for "Watcher" a few days ago. It's mostly me celebrating crowzaya-ness in some semblence of organized story-telling. There will be ficlets (fics of fics?) of crow, kid, teenager, and human Izaya through all points of his life, as well as maybe a sequel at some point in time. Said sequel may take place in novel-time or post-novel (which will be hard 'cuz I have no idea where Narita's heading with the novels).

The fic's title is "Watch Your Shorts" (I still can't believe I actually seriously named it that), so keep an eye out for it?

Enjoy!


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